Bed and Late Night Snack
by Stray
Summary: Something is lurking in the shadows of Knockturn Alley and the Ministry is desperately trying to hush up a 'minor' mishap. Auror Harry Potter feels it is his job to get to the bottom of the things but is he the hunter or the one being hunted? preDH,slash


**Title:** Bed & Late Night Snack

**Pairing(s)**: Harry/Draco, implied Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione

**Summary:** Something is lurking in the shadows of Knockturn Alley and the Ministry is desperately trying to hush up a 'minor' mishap. Auror Harry Potter feels it is his job to get to the bottom of the things, and it doesn't help that the one who should be to his aid apparently has his own agenda. The chase begins… but is Harry the hunter or the one being hunted?

**Rating:** probably lower than R but there is implied sex.

**Warning(s):** slash (duh), vague resemblance of het, cross-dressing, voyeurism, fangirl!characters, first person POV, random tentacles…

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No financial profit is made off of this piece of fiction.

**Author's Notes:** Beta-ed by: **Vaughn** and **Kestrelsparhawk**. Special thanks for organising the fest to the mods of **hdholidays**: **jamie2109** and **nqdonne**.

The sex scene is **edited out** of the fic to keep the rating low. If you want to read the NC-17 version then go to my LJ or one of the HP archives mentioned at my profile page.

**NO SPOILERS FOR DH** -- which means it's not DH-compliant. Originally written for hdholidays for confiteor3. I've rewritten it a bit, based on some comments – including a new summary that actually makes sense in English - go me!

**\\(****TOT)//**

The missive had arrived before nightfall. It lay on the bedside table, open and unfolded and without the added security of an envelope, ready to be read and received. The handwriting looked like that of a teenage girl, the letters curvy and looping all over the place, giving the note the deceptive impression of innocence. A stoppered vial of dark red blood weighed down the upper left corner, like a morbid paper-weight.

_Target: __Potter, Harry James__: Auror; currently being under inquiry for having arrested the MoM and his staff of personal advisors for Dark magic use without sound proof. The ongoing disciplinary procedure places him on patrol duty in Knockturn Alley. This should make your job easier, as the target can be lured to a secure location for disposal with minimal trouble._

_Your objectives are: observe him and people he has contact with; find out __how much he knows__ and whom he confided in with sensitive information about the above mentioned case, or any kind of intelligence he has collected from the organisation. Most likely suspect is his occasional partner in investigations: Auror __Weasley__. Finally, __eliminate him__ and everyone else you deem necessary, and __collect and destroy__ any material that could be used as evidence._

_As usual, included is a blood sample of the target to help with the tracking, taken from last week's medical examination, so it should be fresh enough. _

_We expect the assignment to be carried out to the finest detail. I believe it is unnecessary to remind you how imperative it is that you __do not fail_

Well, nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed.

**\\(****TOT)//**

A body slammed into Harry's. For a second, he thought he was going to be bowled over and land on his arse, right there on the chipped and dirty cobblestones of Knockturn Alley. Not the best place to look clumsy. Especially not when one was wearing the sort of dark and inconspicuous robes that weren't a uniform by right, but were associated with Aurors everywhere in England.

Harry's hand shot out by reflex, grabbing the loose, heavy material of the other's robes. It was both to steady himself and to prevent the person who had bumped into him from getting away. The next second, he had already shoved him – it was unmistakably a 'him': the only detail he could tell unfailingly just from the minute bodily contact – against the wall of the nearest building. His wand pointed in the general direction of the face, ready to be used if necessary. All of this had happened so quickly that only then did Harry have an opportunity to get a glimpse of the attacker.

"Unhand me, Potter!" The command was delivered with an undertone of disgust and righteous indignation. It reached his ears the same time as his mind identified the person whose collar he had in his grip.

Harry let go with a huff and stepped back to remove the man from his personal space. There was a brief noise of shoes scraping on stone and Malfoy managed to regain his balance after Harry let him fall back on the ground. Harry was annoyed, but waited patiently until he had eye contact with Malfoy again.

"Whatever it is you have taken, give it back. Now."

Malfoy blinked in apparent surprise at the outstretched palm shoved under his nose. Harry resisted the urge to snort, wondering idly why Malfoy thought anyone would fall for that act. Then, as he had expected, Malfoy's face twisted into a disgusted grimace. He reached into his pocket and dropped a small, coppery object into Harry's extended hand.

"Can I go now?" The question was delivered in a low, bleak tone, which made it sound bored and defeated at the same time. Harry didn't know which of those emotions was real and which faked; after a moment, he decided he didn't really care either way. The need to try and solve the complicated puzzle that was Malfoy had ceased to be a necessity a long time ago. There were bigger riddles occupying Harry's mind nowadays; thus, Malfoy was allowed to keep his little secrets.

"You do know that I'll find you if you have taken anything else and failed to give it back, Malfoy," Harry warned him, purely out of habit.

Malfoy shrugged it off – out of habit as well. "Whatever, Potter."

Harry stood still for a couple of seconds, watching Malfoy's retreating back with one eye. The bigger part of his attention was directed at the shining metallic object in his hand. It was his Auror badge. He lifted his brows in puzzlement, then shrugged and pocketed it. He must have forgotten to take out his wallet from the robe he had been wearing the previous day, he realised, and thus he didn't have it with him. He reckoned it was a lucky coincidence. Had he not forgotten, he was certain it would be missing a couple of Galleons now, even if Malfoy would have eventually given it back. _Tough luck, Malfoy_, he thought, amused.

He used the movement of slipping the badge back to its place to surreptitiously feel his way around his pocket until he found the small piece of folded parchment that hadn't been there previously. Aware of his surroundings, he left it there for the time being. He would see later what Malfoy wanted from him.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Knockturn Alley seemed such a small, dingy place if one only ever saw it from the outside, standing in the well-lit, spacious exterior of Diagon Alley. In reality, it was neither small nor dingy. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if, had someone managed to measure it, the narrow, winding street turned out to be thrice the length of its socially accepted counterpart, with ten times as many shops and buildings surrounding it.

As for dingy: yes, the first thirty yards of the street that opened directly from Diagon Alley matched the attribute; it was to keep the common wizard and witch away by making it seem as unattractive a place as it could get. What followed after the first bend, which people sneaking wary glances from Diagon Alley weren't able to see past, was not even comparable. Doubtless, it was still dark, gloomy and harsh in its rigidity – sort of gothic, as far as Harry with his limited knowledge in the arts could tell – a strong contrast to the colourful diversity of Diagon Alley outside. However, the darkness had a feel to it, which said it had been carefully designed and cultivated to create a suitable environment for its inhabitants – because they had chosen to do so, and not as a result of decline and neglect.

At the end of the alley, the houses were something else altogether. They were more like miniaturised castles or downright fortresses – they looked nothing short of awe-inspiring. Unlike normal castles, these were built almost on top of each other, obscuring sunlight and casting weird shadows from their countless little turrets and gargoyles to the alley below. Harry felt like he was walking around in a gruesome version of Disneyland, with all the evil characters' headquarters congregated in one place and piled almost on top of each other. If Harry had no knowledge of wizard space and making buildings Unplottable and undetectable for Muggles, he would have wondered whether he had accidentally slipped through a rift to another universe, because it was hard to get his mind around the fact that these buildings were able to blend seamlessly into the ordinary London cityscape.

Their walls oozed a constant, strong aura of magic – each with a different tinge of danger – that seeped into the bones of wizards and witches wandering along. They seemed menacing, powerful and ageless. In reality, though, they were hardly older than a couple of years: shot up out of flat ground after the end of the last war to provide refuge to the few remaining Dark wizards whom the Ministry had tried to commit to Azkaban, in spite of not being able to prove whether or not they had connections to the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters… or so the Ministry thought. They had no actual knowledge of how many of them were hiding behind those walls. It could have been the entirety of England's Dark wizard population collected in one critical mass ready to blow up at the smallest hint of trouble – or just a small, secluded coven. In Harry's opinion – in complete agreement with Moody, and wasn't that a scary thought – they were sitting on a gigantic Dungbomb that, if it went off, would be smelled all the way through to Ireland's furthest corners. One would think that this knowledge would inspire the Ministry to dispatch more of its Aurors to patrol the area.

The inhabitants of Knockturn Alley didn't like Aurors much. They tolerated the presence of one or two of them – especially if they looked young, freshly out of training - hardly a threat. Thus, instead of sending squadrons, the Ministry was resigned to send Aurors on their own, walking up and down aimlessly and looking as innocuous as lost tourists. Most of the time they were left alone. There was no point in alerting the authorities just to get rid of a lone Auror who couldn't do much on his own, anyhow.

In short, the job was boring – at least Harry thought so. Sometimes, there was the passing excitement of catching the odd thief or fake Dark talisman-merchant, but mostly it was just getting aching feet from being on foot for hours on end. The more seasoned (or more foolhardy) Aurors might have risked sitting down in a less suspect inn for a drink or two, but not the new recruits who usually got sent there.

After having walked around Knockturn Alley in the steadily receding sunlight and growing springtime cold for three hours, Harry thought he would take his chances with the nearest pub and get a warm Butterbeer to thaw him somewhat. He gave a wide berth to the ones near the crossing with Diagon Alley – those were the worst, matching the general deterring quality of the street around them. Instead he sought out one just scant minutes of walking distance from where the gothic high-rises began. The inviting warmth of the yellow light spilling onto the rounded cobblestones through the inn's windows suddenly made Harry acutely aware of his own half-frozen limbs.

The establishment looked like any other inn from the inside. It reminded Harry of the Hog's Head, except with a different tall, burly and hairy bartender standing behind the counter. When he entered, gazes were sent his way but then were almost as quickly turned away from him again. The robes, and especially the scar that stood out like a warning label on his forehead, told them exactly what they wanted to know of him. A faint prickling on his nape indicated that he was being watched by inquisitive eyes of people behind his back. The awareness kept him on edge, but his senses didn't pick up anything that could have pointed to danger, just the normal level of curiosity that his person usually received.

He ordered a pint and made his way to a small table near the door that had just been abandoned by its former occupant. He sat down and stretched out his legs through the narrow room that the densely placed tables allowed him. His stiff fingers curled around the heated jug, but he didn't drink. He wasn't sure he wanted to drink _that_. Not that he had expected first class service, but some of the establishments here were serving drinks even less suitable for human consumption than the fertiliser Neville was brewing in his basement, and that, if one knew his friend's Potions skills, was saying something.

He occupied himself with observing the other patrons. He tried to be not too obvious about it; he didn't want to make anyone feel like they were under scrutiny. At once, his sixth sense alerted him to something to his right. His body tensed momentarily and he retracted his legs, pulling them carefully under his body. He was ready to jump up at a moment's notice, should it be necessary. He refrained from turning his head while his gaze swept around lazily over the masses. There. He spotted it from the corner of his left eye: a dark figure, bald head gleaming in the candlelight.

The time was only enough to allow a flash of familiarity to register in his mind. In the next moment, he couldn't see anyone there. First, he thought it had been just the play of shadows and light, that his senses had deceived him. But then a sudden cold waft of outside air prickled his skin.

Harry abruptly straightened in his seat. He turned his head into the direction of the front door, just in time to see it swing closed with a barely audible 'clack'. His heart started beating to a heightened pace, and his nostrils flared.

His mind was made up in a fragment of a second - as expected. It hadn't even been a fully conscious decision to go on the chase, more like an instinct, and thus, predictable. As useful as his instincts proved at times, they were also his Achilles' heel. He really should be made more aware of this weakness of his before it was too late someday.

Apparently, none of the other patrons had noticed anything; Harry didn't see suspicious eyes riveted at the direction of the noise. There were several heads turning his way, though, when he pushed up from his chair and headed towards the exit.

Once outside, he looked around, his wand already in hand and ready for action. There was no one in sight, which was decidedly odd, since Knockturn Alley was always busy with something or other, no matter the time of the day. Right now, it seemed he was the only one in that particular section of the street.

The echoes of steps coming from nearby drew Harry's attention and he started moving in their direction without hesitation. His feet brought him nearer to his target, as far as he could tell from the noises.

He couldn't see anything or anyone moving there – only shadows dancing on the dark stones like silhouettes of branches being moved by wind. There were no trees growing along Knockturn Alley. Harry didn't know what those shadows really were, but he was already used to their presence, and they didn't scare him as they had on his first encounter with them.

His target was successfully hiding among the shadows. Harry had no other choice but to rely fully on his hearing, which meant he had to run as silently as he was capable of. Fortunately, years spent sneaking around Death Eaters and blending into the darkness had not gone by without his skills in this area being honed to precision.

The crooked shape of the alley casting echoes in all directions would have rendered his task more difficult if not for the fact that the street had no forks. The only way to escape from there was to disappear into one of the gaping gateways along the houses, which would have been clearly audible. For now, Harry suspected that he was being led in a specific direction.

At once, Harry noticed the change in the rhythm of the steps; they were deliberately slowing down. Little alarm bells went off in his head and he stopped dead in his tracks before he ran straight into the trap laid out for him. A minor setback. In an Auror's line of work it wasn't uncommon to rely almost fully on one's instincts. Logic and reasoning sometimes proved too slow to effectively avoid being killed. Deceiving the instincts of a seasoned Auror was often harder, but infinitely more rewarding.

The click-clack of steps was now gone and the night was suddenly still. It was not a comfortable stillness. The air was heavy with tension, even more tangible than the strange wafts of magic meandering at random in the forest of small gothic fortresses where Harry was standing now. He could tell he was not alone.

There were no lights in this part of the alley. He turned his head left and right, seeing only the dark, motionless silhouettes in front of him. A barely there feeling began to draw him forward; he started walking almost without conscious thought. His senses were focussed on catching something out of the ordinary, but he couldn't see anything but the darkness surrounding him until he found himself standing in front of a wrought iron gate.

There were no visible guards, but he could feel he was under observation and he didn't like it. It wasn't threatening, but that could change from one moment to the next if he only made a wrong move. There was a sudden shift in the shadows to his right. He twisted around reflexively, wand at the ready.

He finally spotted the door he had failed to notice before; it would blend into the smooth stone wall seamlessly, hiding it from his eyes until it was opened a crack. What he saw then was a tall and sturdy figure standing in the gap, a very distinctive golden hoop pierced through one earlobe glistening in the sparse light, contrasting with skin almost as dark as the night. The shadows on the face shifted and the flash of teeth revealed a crooked smile. Then in the blink of an eye – just as in the inn – Harry stood alone once again. The door was closed as if it had never been open.

**\\(****TOT)//**

After the slow surfacing from light sleep into the waking world, Harry felt the soreness all through his body. While having been assigned to patrolling Knockturn Alley for a week explained pain in certain muscle groups, it explained nothing whatsoever in others. Particularly the small, stinging pain beneath his tail bone if he just so much as moved. At least he had all his limbs intact and he wasn't spurting feathers or thick, strange-coloured hair in odd patches as Ron had last night. That alone was a bloody miracle considering that he had also eaten food that the twins had had more than ample access to, he thought with a chuckle when he was somewhat more awake.

He tried shifting into a more comfortable position again, then groaned when the move caused something hard to dig into his belly. He grabbed it with one hand and wrenched it out from beneath crumpled layers of bed-linen, frowning at the stickiness it left on his fingers. The bright aquamarine L-shaped object curled obediently into his palm, its latex touch both silky and rubbery.

Ginny chose that moment to walk in from the kitchen, wearing a loose tank top and boxer shorts which Harry had become quite accustomed to seeing on her by now. What caught Harry's attention was the steaming mug in her hand. Harry realised that the smell of fresh coffee in the air must have been what had woken him from his slumber.

Ginny flopped down into the armchair she typically used to store her freshly laundered clothes in. Since now it stood almost empty, Harry concluded that it must be close to laundry day.

"You're up?" Ginny sipped her coffee with a contented sigh. With her short, mussed hair and arms more defined than the average witch's, she could have passed for an adolescent Ron, except that her face didn't resemble any of her brothers' much. Which was fortunate, since Harry shuddered at the mere thought of thinking about Ron in any sort of sexual way. "Sorry, I didn't realise. I'd have brought you some."

Harry grunted in reply and made an attempt to get up.

He heard Ginny snickering while she was undoubtedly eyeing him with that smug smirk of hers. Harry knew he wouldn't be able to get it off of her face for at least a day. Finally, he gave up and slumped back on the rumpled sheets with a heartfelt groan.

"All you need to do is to ask – if you think you can't walk," Ginny offered gamely.

Harry briefly contemplated the alternative of taking it like a man just to show her, but then he realised that it wasn't worth the trouble. She was already laughing her arse off at his cost, so giving her a bit more ammunition on him wouldn't change anything. He opened one eyelid and blinked up at her with his best puppy-dog expression until she snorted, put down her own mug and got up from her chair to bring him his elixir of life.

Alone once again, Harry forced himself up on his elbows and then turned to his back. He tugged on the sheets in a half-hearted attempt to make himself decent, but after a few seconds of wrestling with the hopelessly tangled bedding, he admitted defeat. It wasn't as though Ginny hadn't already seen the goods. The air was nice and balmy on his sleep-warmed skin, if a bit stuffy. He listened to the noises of metal clinking on porcelain and felt a small surge of gratitude that Ginny still remembered how he liked his coffee: thin, hot, with some sugar and milk, and most importantly: without a spoon. He supposed asking her to serve it in an actual Styrofoam cup would be going a bit overboard.

She came into the room and handed him the beaker, rewarding the strained expression on Harry's face while he was trying to sit up with a smug grin. Harry gave her a dark look before sipping the vaguely coffee-smelling liquid: it had the colour and consistency of Polyjuice potion in a one-to-thousand dilution and the matching taste.

"Don't look at me like that!" Ginny lifted her palms in a mock-defensive gesture, throwing herself back into the chair. She grabbed her abandoned mug again and, after a first gulp of the now tepid liquid, she knocked back the remains with a grimace. "It wasn't my idea this time."

"I knew I shouldn't have drunk that last shot…" Or possibly the last four.

"Don't worry, partner. I won't tell Ron or Hermione…"

Harry rolled his eyes at that. Of course, he knew she wouldn't tell her brother. Not if she wanted to take advantage of Harry again in the future, because Harry could just imagine how Ron would react to the 'news'. After their break-up, it had taken years to make Ginny's family understand that they were no longer together and didn't intend to go down that road ever again. In their eyes, as long as Harry and Ginny still got along, there was still hope. They just couldn't grasp the concept of an amicable parting.

If Mrs Weasley ever got wind that they routinely engaged in random, no-strings-attached sexual acts, she would immediately begin to plan their wedding – after giving them a lecture for being irresponsible. He could still remember the… let's call it an argument... between Ginny and her mother regarding the uncertain state of affairs between them.

It had been during yet another Weasley family wedding – some distant cousin's this time. Harry and Ginny had just returned from Dublin a few days previously, from an unsuccessful raid on a former Dark wizard hide-out. They had been assigned to each other as partners on that particular investigation because the Head Auror thought that the place was already abandoned and he couldn't do without one of his more experienced Aurors to partner either Ginny or Harry. As the two youngest among them, they were still regarded as rookies by the other Aurors, despite having been on the force for almost seven years already.

When they had been dispatched to the location, it had turned out that one of the suspects had still been hiding there. Thanks to the insufficient time for preparation they had been permitted, he had got away and Harry had got caught in the crossfire – literally. Ginny had spent the next five days at his bedside in the hospital, holding onto his hand and studiously avoiding his requests for a mirror until the magical grafts had fully healed. No wonder she was already a bit on edge when her mother started nagging her about marriage plans with Harry, which manifested in an outburst when she finally reached the end of her rope.

"Sorry, Mum, but Harry and I won't be another Frank and Alice Longbottom."

"And thank Merlin for that!" Harry remembered Molly's admonishing tone acutely, even from the distance of several months.

"Geez! I meant the 'marrying and setting up house together'-part, not the 'getting Crucio-ed until we get permanent residence in St. Mungo's'-part," Ginny snipped at her. "That might still happen." Harry could see hackles rising on both sides.

"Now listen here, young lady…!" Thank Merlin, one of the twins came to the rescue.

"Oh, come on, Mum. She might be our little sister, but even you cannot deny that she has the job that requires the most balls among us – even if she doesn't have the corresponding equipment…"

"George!" Harry winced at the last vulgar remark but knew that it had been added on purpose, to divert Mrs Weasley's attention from the topic. Unfortunately, Fred, who didn't have his eyes on the conversation, noticed his momentary slip and immediately jumped to conclusions.

"Though I'm sure you wouldn't be opposed if she did, right Harry, mate?" he whispered conspiratorially into Harry's ear.

"Fred!" This time it was Harry who hissed, face reddening. At least he was leaning close enough to him that Harry could be certain no one else had heard him.

Meanwhile, Ginny took pity on poor Mrs Weasley – perhaps she was more tired than Harry had thought – and launched into an explanation, without the snide comments this time. Harry only heard the end of it.

"… is what I meant, Mum. We work well as friends and work partners, but there is nothing more to our relationship. We don't feel the need for it to become something more. That relationship was a bad idea from the beginning." Harry knew she wasn't talking about their sixth year but their second time together when they had started Auror training. Neither of them had really wanted it; they had resumed where they had left off more out of some misguided sense of obligation towards the other than anything else, and thank Merlin they had realised it in time.

"Ginny, dear…" Mrs Weasley threw Harry an apologetic glance. Harry couldn't decide whether she was disappointed in Ginny's proclamation or the fact that Harry didn't deny any of it.

"No, Mum. You have to stop wishing for this… dream of yours. It just won't happen like that."

And, surprisingly, that was the end of that. Well, if they just managed to not stir the waters again.

The sound of the shower being started made Harry realise that despite having just imbibed some diluted caffeine and having a half-full mug still in his grip, he had nodded off. He finished his morning drink and looked around in the room for his clothes. He found them slung over the armrest of Ginny's chair, which meant that they were now a bit wrinkled from Ginny having sat on them. Harry gave a little sigh and was doubly glad that he really wasn't considering her as a potential life partner. Oh well, he had been planning to change into fresh robes once he was home, anyhow.

As for the thing with Ginny… they did understand each other – Harry wouldn't have thought he would ever find someone who understood him better than his two best friends, but there it was. They were sometimes like two halves of the same mind. Possibly because they were now working at the same place, while Ron and Hermione had chosen different paths in their lives.

They did work well with each other – that was why they were still unofficially partners even when it wasn't strictly needed anymore. They complemented each other – in more than one way. They had discovered early on in their three months of giving it a try how a relationship not weighed down by the threat of an evil madman would work between them, that they were compatible in bed – very much so. Harry was glad no one else knew half of what they got up to, or he was sure his ears would be constantly burning, having to listen to the twins' never-ending jibes. But they also discovered that they were both of one mind about where they wanted to carry this relationship and that was not marriage – or even love. They were friends and partners, and nothing else was needed or wanted.

At the beginning, right after they had agreed to just remain friends, Harry had regrets. But those only lasted until he made it clear to himself that not being in love with Ginny was not necessarily less than having her as a friend. In fact, he felt closer to her now than when they had this awkward manoeuvring in the minefield of feelings in the way. She knew things about him he would have considered too demeaning to share with her if she remained his romantic interest and vice versa. So he couldn't say he regretted that they were not building a family together right now. He knew Ginny didn't either. The only ones who did were her mother and perhaps Ron.

The sleek, L-shaped object that had played an essential part in last night's events was still lying innocently among the sheets, catching Harry's attention once again while he was fighting with his shirt buttons. Ginny's friends had given it to her on her birthday as a joke after she had made it through her Auror exam. At the same time, she had cut her hair and had started wearing trousers under her robes because they were more convenient for work. Harry doubted her friends ever dreamed that their present would get any actual use. He hadn't either, Harry thought somewhat guiltily.

If he discounted that the object was definitely larger both in thickness and length, the penile-shaped end of it was remarkably similar to his own 'equipment', as Fred was in the habit of putting it. Even the jagged line of a protrusion imitating a vein on the underside ran in a similar pattern. It was somewhat disturbing how this likeness could affect his hormones: just the thought of experiencing… knowing exactly what other people were feeling while he was having sex with them caused his blood to pool in his neither regions.

That reminded Harry of the fact that, unfortunately, Fred hadn't been wrong with his observation, though the first time had only happened months later. Even right now, Harry had several pleasantly sore muscles in a body part of his that wasn't mentioned in polite conversation to attest to it. He was planning a nice, relaxing hot bath as soon as he got home, and then perhaps calling over some friends to do something fun over the weekend, when he remembered the little note Malfoy had slipped into his pocket.

**\\(****TOT)//**

After putting up an admirable pretence of arguing with him, Ginny agreed to accompany Harry to the abandoned warehouse near the docks. It was a Muggle location, as far from Knockturn Alley or, indeed, any kind of wizarding dwelling as one could get while still inside London. Malfoy was always peculiar in choosing the places of their meetings. It gave Harry the impression that he was watching too many Muggle action movies, which, considering how different Malfoy seemed to be now from his school-persona, wouldn't be that surprising if it turned out to be true.

"Always so dramatic," Ginny remarked wryly, looking around in the huge, empty space; then she cast a couple of subtle Detection Charms. Harry only grunted in reply; the comment hadn't been meant for him. Instead he was looking out for Malfoy. He could acutely feel the presence of another wizard within the building, so he knew that Malfoy had been already waiting for them, even if he was not yet showing himself. That changed in the next instant.

"You haven't contacted me for months, Potter."

The exclamation was amplified by the echoes created by the empty walls. It was hard to tell where it had come from originally – or would have been, had Harry only used his ears and eyes to determine it.

"I thought we had a deal," Malfoy said, stepping closer.

That was true, by the way. Still, it seemed strange for Malfoy to bring that up or to arrange a meeting to rectify it after all the noisy objections he had voiced at the beginning of this arrangement of theirs. 'Because Slytherin doesn't necessarily mean sneak' had been his exact wording. Harry had shrugged and told Malfoy that he only needed an informant and if he didn't like it, Harry could just stop ignoring his illegal brewing practice and send him for a couple of years to Azkaban. And it wasn't as though Malfoy wouldn't be benefiting from it.

"Need the money?" Harry didn't shout. He rather liked the fact that his voice had become deep enough to carry even if he chose to speak quietly.

Malfoy stepped out of the deep shadows into the small, uneven circle of moonlight filtered though rifts on the roof near the spot where Harry was standing. Ginny was lurking somewhere at his side, keeping an eye out for trouble while Harry was occupied with Malfoy.

"I have an ailing mother to take care of," Malfoy said in a volume closer to normal, trying to appear noncommittal.

Harry lifted a brow but didn't comment on that. After all, for all he knew, it could be true.

Malfoy crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked displeased as his gaze wandered from Harry to the general direction of Ginny and back. Then he sighed, as if giving in, and curled his mouth in disdain.

"You aren't taking me seriously," he complained with the lift of a brow. "I told you to come alone and now I see you brought your girlfriend with you. Very unprofessional, Potter."

Harry didn't answer to what he knew was just bantering with the aim to lessen the accumulated tension in the air. Ginny, though, didn't seem to know Malfoy that well, or for some reason, Malfoy was able to get under her skin a lot quicker than anyone else – her twin brothers included. The memory of a well-placed Bat-Bogey Hex still made Harry smile occasionally.

"I'm not his girlfriend," she snapped. "For your information, I came as backup; to fry your skinny arse in case you had some twisted little scheme on your mind."

Harry winced. He didn't like the fact that her professionalism tended to slip if she was pissed off. That seemed to be a mite hypocritical; had he been alone with Malfoy, it might have been he who flew off the handle at the slightest provocation. The only reason the comment hadn't come from him was that having someone who, at times, was even more hot-headed than Harry was, helped to keep himself in check. Especially in the face of the tantrum Ron would throw if he failed to protect his baby sister. That threat hanging over his head worked way better than the stupid anger-management courses Robards insisted on enrolling him in now and then after an investigation had gone awry.

Malfoy gave Ginny a wary glance, as if he had only just noticed that what he had thought to be a bug crawling on the floor was actually a pissed-off Blast-Ended Skrewt, then turned back to Harry.

"I'm impressed, Potter," he said. "I wouldn't have expected you to possess enough brains to circumvent our little Vow."

Harry shrugged. That Unbreakable Vow in question sealing their agreement had been something of a joke; a mockery of mutual good intentions. Harry didn't doubt that Malfoy had found his own back doors in it and he couldn't fathom why he thought only Slytherins would think of exploiting flaws. He noted that though Malfoy seemed genuinely taken aback, he was more frustrated than afraid. Good. That meant that he didn't have reason to fear Ginny's presence; the suddenly orchestrated meeting wasn't a ruse to cause Harry harm. He still wished Ginny hadn't given away his game, though.

"So is there something… you need information on?" Malfoy worded his question carefully, not naming anything he might have had knowledge of. That would have been the sensible way to go for it, had he called this meeting because he needed the money for the information he was able to provide. Something in Malfoy's body language, though, gave Harry a feeling in his guts that he was skirting around a different issue and just trying to find a way to broach it.

Fact was that Harry was in the middle of an investigation. Or would be, he thought angrily, had someone not put a stop to his efforts when he had obviously come too close to the bubbling cauldron. He wasn't really in the mood to play games. If Malfoy wanted something from him, then he was going to have to speak plainly and not waste his time.

"Do you know of something in the works?" he asked, to the point.

"I heard there is an assassin after you. That would surely be interesting enough."

Harry tilted his head and then just looked thoughtfully at Malfoy. Because it was one thing hearing it from Moody that someone was after his hide again, and another one when the old man's paranoia was being proven true by street gossip. The latter was always the more reliable source of the two.

"What do you know about it?"

"There is a rumour going around that you made a blunder with some higher-ups, Potter. Never heard of subtlety, have you?" Malfoy poked. Ginny, of course, instantly leaped to Harry's defence.

"The sharing of information goes the other way, Malfoy," she barked. "Why are you so curious, anyhow?" She didn't move in Malfoy's direction, but her eyes were gleaming with a dangerous light. Malfoy knew body language well enough to correctly interpret hers because he lifted his empty hands in a defensive position and took a half step backwards. He didn't look intimidated, though.

"I am interested in keeping my milk-cow alive. What did you think?" Malfoy snorted. Ginny mustn't have liked his tone because her grip suddenly firmed around her wand and she took a warning step forward.

"You're not making me not want to strangle you, Malfoy," she spat. "If you know something, I suggest you spit it out and now."

"What's this going to be? The good cop-red cop routine again? You don't seriously think I still fall for that, right?"

Ginny gave him a nasty look until he relented, or just humoured her, Harry couldn't tell.

"All right, all right. I don't know much, but I could find out some things for you. It wouldn't be cheap because, I heard, it's some big shot after you. You did manage to get into the face of someone important this time, right?"

Harry shook his head and put up a hand to prevent Ginny from dishing out another verbal retort he knew was coming. The assassin wasn't really a matter of consideration to him; he was too used to people being after him. Malfoy's last slip only confirmed that he had been on the right track in his investigation before it had been put to a halt, if it warranted someone sending an assassin after him. And this was still not why Malfoy had asked him here.

"What is it that you really want from me, Malfoy?" he demanded, forestalling any further verbal games. Malfoy and Ginny could indulge in that particular pastime some other time when he wasn't there.

Malfoy's face transformed within an instant, the previous mask of flippancy falling away like a dead leaf in the autumn, giving way to an expression of tightly controlled anger.

"I have information about a known Death Eater collaborator," Malfoy said, his tone low and bitter. "I have seen Kingsley Shacklebolt wandering around Knockturn Alley, consorting with Castor Dilato's crowd."

Harry blinked. That wasn't what he had been expecting, but at least now he knew that the odd sighting at the beginning of his week-long patrol hadn't been just a play of lights or something mixed into his beer, which he hadn't even drunk. He had felt so bloody stupid after that chase when, upon returning to the inn and making a sweep for the magical signature he had once been closely acquainted with, he hadn't been able to find anything. It had been just easier to believe that he had fallen victim to someone's sick sense of humour that hadn't liked an Auror sniffling around their haunt. Wouldn't have been the first time it happened.

He reckoned that a couple of years ago, when the hurt of betrayal had still been fresh, Harry would have given his arm to be able to exact revenge. Judging from the dangerous glint in Malfoy's eyes, that same desire was still alive in him...

Oh, right. Now Harry remembered: Malfoy didn't have an ailing mother at home to take care of anymore.

"I saw someone who looked like him at the beginning of the week – just after you bumped into me," he found himself telling Malfoy. "Then I saw him disappearing in one of those cosy horror-mansions near the end of Knockturn Alley. You think he is working for Dilato now?"

Malfoy nodded. "I think so."

Harry didn't need Malfoy to spell him out who that was. People – and other beings – lurking in the shadows of Knockturn Alley went largely unidentified, but there was no hiding the identity of the wizard who, at present, was practically running the place. Not that he wanted to hide, Harry thought. Castor Dilato had had no proven affiliations with Voldemort and, of course, if there was something fishy, it could never be traced back to him. He was also smarter than to declare himself a candidate for the next Dark Lord.

Rumour had it that he even had connections in the Ministry, and though once Harry had hoped that the rumours were not founded, after his last case, he was more of a realist than to believe that. Especially since he had encountered the aforementioned name on what seemed to be a private message he had managed to confiscate, which had then suspiciously gone missing from the evidence depository.

The Ministry had gone to great lengths just to alleviate the damage to their public image, even going as far as to invent a ridiculous tale of the actual arrest having been made by an impersonator with the purpose to target the Minister's person with unfounded accusations scant months before the re-election. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so bloody infuriating that it had actually worked.

Harry remembered wanting to corner Gawain Robards, shake him by his shoulders and ask him why he would believe such obvious rubbish. By now he knew Robards hadn't believed in it for one second; he just didn't have any other choice than to act as if he did. And, in his defence, he had as good as given permission to Harry to continue his investigation in his private time, under wraps. He wouldn't help him, but he wouldn't hinder him in it either. In fact, if he did something less than professional in order to do it, Harry was sure Robards would just pretend not to see.

That thought gave him an idea, which was followed by the sort of quick decision he was always getting reprimanded for. But he knew, however long he spent thinking it through, he would arrive at the same conclusion.

"How much do you know about what happened with the Minister for Magic?" he asked Malfoy as the cogwheels in his mind suddenly started turning into this new direction.

He got a contemplatively pursed mouth for his effort. Malfoy was most likely thinking that Harry had already discarded the information that had obviously been his main incentive for arranging the meeting. The expression changed into a more neutral one as carefully sorted and packed information started pouring past those lips, generous with the ridiculous assumptions the papers had been full of and sparse with details only someone mingling in Malfoy's circles would know. Harry waved him off impatiently; these were not the things he wanted to hear.

"How much do they know about how the Ministry covered the scandal?" he asked directly, not needing to point out who 'they' were. Malfoy's eyebrows jumped up into speculating bows in the middle of his forehead.

"You mean that ridiculous excuse about you having been impersonated by a doppelganger?"

Harry nodded, keeping his expression neutral and pretending not to notice the amused glint that appeared in the other's eyes. Malfoy looked thoughtful again.

"Most of the people are just laughing at it. I mean, someone looking exactly like you taking your place to arrest the Minister? How absurd does that sound? They could have just said it was Glamours or Polyjuice…"

"There are detectors for Glamour Charms in the Ministry, and everyone has to undergo a test for being Polyjuiced before being allowed to enter the Minister's office," Ginny interjected, but this time she didn't sound mocking.

"Right… That makes sense." Malfoy shrugged, not overly bothered by the fact he was forced to concede to her. "At any rate, even if it does sound ridiculous, there are no accounts right out refuting it, so I guess it could be true…" He fixed Harry with a calculating glance. "Is it? True, I mean."

"No," Harry said without delay. He got an amused snort in return.

"Way to go, Potter!" Malfoy gave him a mock-appreciative look, but then a crease appeared between his pale brows and his expression became serious again. It seemed, now that the cat was out of the bag, he wasn't bothering to downplay the importance of getting what he wanted.

"What about Shacklebolt?"

Harry gave him a nod and a determined grin to forestall Malfoy's likely protests against his plan. If he wanted it so bad, he would have to give something in exchange.

"It seems our dear Ministry just provided me with the means to insinuate myself into the circles he is moving in – that is, if you're willing to contribute to the cause."

"The means?" The question, this time, came from Ginny. She must not have liked the feral glint in Harry's eyes because she joined Malfoy in their little frowning contest.

"I'm going undercover."

"What? You didn't say anything about this, Harry!" Ginny hissed harshly. She covered the distance between them rather quickly and poked him in the ribs with what Harry thought could be either the tip of her wand or her finger. He hoped it was the latter.

"Decided it just now," Harry told her truthfully, already in motion. He could see her ire rising, but Malfoy cut off her indignant objection with his own.

"No way is this going to be what I think it's going to be, Potter!" he spat. "I'm not operating a homeless shelter."

"No, you're operating an illegal brewing laboratory," Harry told him matter-of-factly. "Besides, do you want him caught or not?"

**\\(****TOT)//**

"You don't think much of planning, do you, Potter?" Malfoy snapped at him while he was unlocking the door to his flat. "Wouldn't you've had to pack or something?"

"My doppelganger is supposed to be on the run. I doubt I'd have had time to pack if it were me in his place," Harry answered calmly. He deposited the new duffel bag with the change of casual clothes and the shaving kit inside it on Malfoy's hardwood floor. He had bought all of the things he would need for the night on the way from the warehouse.

"Right." Malfoy grimaced and went straight for the stove, picking up a kettle and putting on water.

"As for planning: we need to find a good explanation as to why you're willing to hide me," Harry said.

He let his gaze sweep around Malfoy's place. It was a dingy little flat with old furniture, peeling paint and barely a hint of an entrance hall. At least it looked clean. The kitchen and the living room were only separated by different floor coverings. Three closed doors lead to other rooms: one from the kitchen and two from the other part. Harry hadn't waited for permission from Malfoy before he started looking around the flat, trying to get a feel for the environment.

"It's easy: gives me a good reputation."

Malfoy looked at him above his shoulder, his gaze following Harry silently as he made his round through the flat.

"To hide a wanted man who tried to get the Minister compromised?" Harry asked, just to make sure. Malfoy nodded as if it was self-explanatory. Thinking about it some more while casually opening and closing doors to see what they were hiding, Harry realised that it _was_.

A snort came from behind his back, and when Harry turned back from the open door leading to the bedroom, he noticed the amused expression on Malfoy's face.

"Just imagining how it's going to look when I turn up in my usual haunts with Harry Potter, Auror Extraordinaire walking by my side. You'll at least have to get rid of those glasses," Malfoy told him, frowning, as if he had already expected Harry to disagree.

Harry shrugged. Like it or not, the glasses were a part of his public persona… what did Malfoy just call it? 'Auror Extraordinaire'. Of course he hadn't planned to wear them while trying to blend in. He had his seldom used contacts stowed away in their little case in the bottom of his coat pocket and… well, there were other things he could do about his appearance. Not that he was planning to alter his looks excessively; only to the degree it would make sense if he weren't Harry Potter, just trying to look like it, and due to some freak accident, succeeding better than anyone else.

He found the concealed door behind the pantry leading to the 'secret' laboratory on the first try: he only needed to follow his nose – though the fruit jar full of bad eggs on one shelf had almost managed to deceive him. Malfoy was most likely keeping it there to stave off searchers. Harry had to admit that it was an effective method, if slightly disgusting.

He went back to the kitchen and joined Malfoy, who was already pouring the water into the pot. Harry threw a glance at the lone mug standing on the table and went to rummage the cupboard until he found another one for himself.

"Don't make yourself at home, Potter," Malfoy grumbled under his breath.

He seemed to be already regretting having agreed to house Harry during the next couple of weeks and had been making noises all the way to his flat, trying to prod Harry into asking his permission again. Harry knew better than to bring up the topic and give him an opening to weasel out of the arrangement. Malfoy was generally all right with giving out information, but he usually avoided being dragged into the thick of it. Harry had expected him to change his mind after he had some more time to think; it was a small wonder he had not decided that he didn't want to do it after all, even before he had allowed Harry to pass through the front door.

Once the tea had steeped enough, Harry took the initiative to pour for both himself and Malfoy, without asking. He hoped that his actions would either mollify Malfoy somewhat or keep him off his guard long enough to forget his intentions of throwing Harry out and cancelling their deal.

"So, what's your plan?" Harry asked after sipping some of the hot liquid. Then he frowned and heaped some more sugar into his mug. That only made it taste worse. Harry resolved to ask Malfoy which putrid potion ingredient of his he had mistaken for tea, once he had stopped fidgeting at Harry's presence invading his personal space.

"Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question, Potter?" Malfoy frowned and drank from his tea with a perfectly straight face. Harry concluded that he was either a good actor or his taste buds had already been exterminated by the long-term practice of sampling his own brews.

"You're the one acquainted with the neighbourhood. Where do you think Shacklebolt would be likely to show up?"

"That depends." Having been reminded of his personal vendetta, Malfoy sat up straight in his chair, suddenly more alert, which Harry thought to be a good sign for his future cooperation. "Where did you see him the first time?"

Harry thought about it, making a mistake of forgetting what was in his mug and taking another sip reflexively, then coughing and pushing the mug far away from himself so he wouldn't accidentally do it again.

"I don't know the name of the inn, but the Butterbeer they served tasted like your tea." Malfoy shrugged noncommittally, as if saying 'they all do'. "Then I followed him to one of those estates at the back of the alley."

Malfoy seemed to be contemplating something for a couple of seconds, then looked back at Harry.

"You're not giving me much to work with, but all right. I'll take you with me to one of my usual hangouts to implement your cover story. You will show me the inn you saw but we aren't going in. There is no way somebody wouldn't get suspicious of you showing up there twice in a week, and no one would believe us if we tried to feed them the doppelganger story. Then we are going to walk down to the north end and find that house you were talking about, see whether it's Dilato's place or not. But only if we can come up with a good enough excuse so that we won't be killed for snooping around."

Harry was not surprised how easily control had been taken away from him, once offered to Malfoy. He fought down the urge to gain back some of it by starting an argument about small details and nodded. He might cringe at the tone and the thought that he would have to defer in his decisions to Malfoy, but this was his world and Harry was just a nearly clueless infiltrator.

Whether Malfoy was pleased with his surrender of control or still pissed off about him intruding on his life, he didn't let it show. He went back to sipping his tea, most likely pondering about what kind of reception they could expect later that night while Harry stood up and made for the bathroom.

By the time he returned – he doubted it had taken more than a couple of minutes – Malfoy was wearing a different robe and waiting for him, sitting on the kitchen table, swinging one leg back and forth impatiently.

"At last!" He slipped off the table and took a quick step towards Harry, arm extended and holding out a long black robe, similar to his own, for Harry to put on.

Then he stopped at once, his usual mask of sneering haughtiness slipping and his expression suddenly turning blank from shock.

"Damn! I almost didn't recognise you, Potter."

Malfoy lowered the wand he had lifted in an unconscious reaction to possible danger and took a step back, looking at Harry with a strange, wide-eyed expression. "That's wicked!" he whispered. "What's with the eyes?"

"Contacts," Harry informed him. They were normal Muggle contact lenses: initially coloured blue, but with a simple, well-practiced trick in front of Malfoy's ridiculously large mirror Harry had changed them to a more greenish hue. It was close to his own but someone who knew him personally – or just looked at his pictures in the papers – wouldn't fail to either consciously or subconsciously recognise the difference. The cold, calculating eyes of a killer, Ginny had said once, only half-joking. Right now, that suited Harry better than his prominent glasses.

"Is that a Glamour Charm on your scar? And what's with the hair? Aren't you going to do anything about it?" Malfoy seemed to have shaken off his surprise, but Harry didn't think that Malfoy taking an interest in his looks was such a good thing.

"No. It's not uncommon for people to have this hair colour. Besides, I can't change too much in my appearance. I'm supposed to be a doppelganger."

He slipped past Malfoy; this sudden change in his attitude from wanting to attack him to becoming nosy both intrigued and distressed him. Harry wasn't used to this level of familiarity from Malfoy.

Malfoy seemed to understand the unspoken request to back off. He stopped speaking and just handed Harry the robe, then waited until he had slipped it over his Muggle clothes and opened the door.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Malfoy's flat was in a building not directly connected with Knockturn Alley. One had to go through a passageway inside another house to reach it. There was a back entrance that had once led to Muggle London, but it had been blocked so that Muggles couldn't get in and consequently, it also prevented passage in the opposite direction. Harry did suspect that there was some undisclosed route for the inhabitants to use if they needed to get out quickly, but Malfoy hadn't said anything about that and Harry hadn't asked.

He was somewhat surprised when, upon exiting to Knockturn Alley, they turned left – not in the direction of those seedy inns near Diagon Alley Harry had been dreading to have to sit in, but the more 'sophisticated' – if one dared use that word in this milieu – ones closer to the hidden depths of the street. Harry didn't say anything, though he was surprised that Malfoy had found a market for the dubious potions he was brewing in his back room in those places. His mind was ready to automatically catalogue everything and everyone he saw seeking contact with Malfoy; it was really too bad that the Unbreakable Vow would forever prevent him from using that information in an official capacity.

Malfoy turned right at a wooden door and entered an inn, Harry following in his footsteps. Once inside, he let the door close behind him while he took in the variety of sights, sounds and smells presented by this new fish-tank of people and magical creatures – humanoid and semi-humanoid alike. The place was larger than he had expected: larger than any other place he had been in along Knockturn Alley. The black-painted walls without windows, the many conversations mixing together into a sound akin to bubbling and sizzling, and the thick smoke swirling just above his head gave him the impression of having been dropped into a cauldron, to be processed into some obscure potion. And the glances he got indicated that he was the volatile ingredient that had been accidentally mixed into the brew and was about to cause an explosion.

Malfoy must have seen those looks as well, but he waded through the crowd as if they were nothing to worry about – or not directed at his entourage. Harry reckoned he should follow his example and not react to the prickling, hot sensation he could feel on his skin, as if those stares could scorch him alive. Their way led to a large, round table at the back of the inn, half-covered in dancing shadows that seemed not to be projected by obstacles standing in the line of light but something indefinable. Harry would have guessed they were created by magic but he had never heard of such spell, nor saw a point in employing one, so he could only conclude that it must have been some weird magical projection proper to one of the creatures around the table.

There were five of them: two wizards, a witch and two humanoid-looking lumps heavily covered by long-sleeved, hooded robes. The witch saw them first. She was half up with her wand in position to fire a curse. Harry's own hand was hidden in the long sleeve of the borrowed robe, but he kept his wand out of sight for the time being.

The others around the table reacted to the sudden movement with the antagonism Harry had expected, and soon there were four additional wands pointed at his head.

The situation was rapidly becoming worrying. Harry was starting to wonder whether it had been a mistake to trust Malfoy with his life and safety, when the tension was broken by a high-pitched roll of laughter. Harry wasn't the only one who suddenly lost focus of his previous target when he twisted his head toward the unexpected disturbance.

"Priceless! I wish you could see the look on your faces! I should have brought a camera."

After the startling and entirely inappropriate noise, Malfoy's comment seemed almost normal, and Harry suddenly recognised the tactic. He also recognised that Malfoy had had to know exactly what kind of welcome they would get and was angry with him for not warning him. On the other hand, Harry should have been better prepared. Undercover work had been part of his training; he just hadn't had a need to recall those lessons since. His face was too well known for his superiors to attempt sending him on any kind of undercover assignment to any place closer than Mozambique.

That part of Auror training clicked into his mind now and told him how to behave in face of this kind of danger. It suggested to leave handling the situation to Malfoy and attempt to act natural; confident, but not doing anything that would make him stick out like a sore thumb.

"Malfoy? What did you think, bringing him here?" one of the wizards asked. Harry noted that he was around Malfoy's age, his hair brown and curly and his face unfamiliar, which suggested that he hadn't been a student in Hogwarts.

"Hah! I knew you'd fall for it." Malfoy seemed to have composed himself again after his little 'bout of hilarity', but he was still grinning like a loon. On any other person, it would have looked transparent, but Malfoy was prone to acting up at any given situation; it was a part of his personality, and it was now working to his benefit.

He stepped up to the table, suddenly seizing Harry's sleeve, then executed a funny little bow and dragged Harry to the forefront, as if formally presenting him. "Mates, meet Mr Doppelganger. He is new in the town, so be kind to him." Then he winked, as if he had just told a great joke.

The moment was broken when Malfoy, purposely acting his most obnoxious self, ferreted his way around the table. Harry had to concede that it was a fairly effective way of diverting the attention from him. Malfoy claimed two chairs, forcing the others to shuffle about, until they ended up pressed together on a padded bench that was mounted on the wall on the other side of the table. Harry was silently glad that with the setting Malfoy chose for them, the majority of the room would only see the back of his head and not his face, even if it meant that he was sitting with his back to the door.

The formerly frozen atmosphere thawed somewhat, but it was clear that the occupants of the table were keeping a wary distance from him, the newcomer. After a few minutes, seemingly everyone went back to their former activities, ignoring Harry's presence, but his keen senses picked up the undercurrent tension directed at him.

All through the night, Harry could feel their gazes on him, though he never managed to catch so much as a fleeting glance his way. He knew that he was being sized up, covertly evaluated, while everyone seemed to be occupied in a conversation that didn't include him. Not that Harry minded. So, at least, he had a chance to make his own assessment about the company Malfoy was obviously keeping these days. He couldn't say he was surprised that it seemed shady and slightly disturbing.

It was one of the hooded figures who spoke to him first, the voice deep and booming, which made Harry not want to know what kind of creature was hiding under the black cloth.

"So, mister…"

Harry felt a sudden rush of concern. He hadn't talked with Malfoy about what name he was going to use and now he could only hope that Malfoy would let him speak for himself. He knew if the other opened his mouth now, Harry would end up with some stupid pseudonym he would have to continue using. And that only if he were lucky. If not, then he and Malfoy would end up saying something different at the same time and manage to make him look more suspicious. Thank Merlin, Malfoy let him handle the situation.

"Harry will do. I'm used to people calling me that."

Even he was surprised by the fact that he had managed to sound poised – a hell lot of more poised than he was feeling. Finally, his training kicked in and he managed to school his features into something that he hoped looked both non-threatening and confident but not without a touch of aloofness. In a place like this, people who looked innocuous garnered the most suspicion.

He wasn't asked more questions. The next hour and a half was spent with idle conversation between the members of the group. Malfoy was talking business with the other wizard: a bald, burly fellow wearing bright violet robes. Harry noted that the garment was probably chosen with the intention of drawing attention away from the man's face.

The general noise level combined with their low tones made it impossible for Harry to understand more than a couple of words from the conversation. He was certain that Malfoy was doing it on purpose. Harry didn't really care; he was using the time to get acquainted with the place and the people there. Soon, the two persons dressed in hooded robes stood up and left the table without a word, and Harry found himself being the focus of the attention of a bored witch and the brown-haired wizard.

"So… _Harry_, is it?" she said. To Harry's frustration, she slipped over the now unoccupied space between them and settled on the chair next to him, even tugging it closer to his so their thighs almost touched. Harry didn't like anyone he didn't know sitting this close, especially in a place where he had reason to suspect people having hidden agendas and concealed weapons. "Talk a bit about yourself."

Harry lifted a brow and remained silent, trying his hardest to seem unapproachable.

He was thankful for the fact that the coloured lenses he wore would hide the contractions and dilatations of his pupils, concealing surprise, fear or satisfaction. They helped him to put up a detached expression in face of any situation, covering up for his bad habit of, as certain people called it, wearing his heart on his sleeve. He was glad for the small help especially in that moment, because the witch, despite vivid red hair – darker than Ginny's – a symmetrical, oval face, a pert nose and full lips, reminded him uncomfortably of the very person who used to criticize him for it. It must be those dark, piercing eyes, he reckoned. Then he made a mental note to avoid direct eye contact and watch out for signs that would indicate that someone was attempting to breach his mind.

"There is not much to know about me," he said finally, deciding that appearing cautious would probably seem the least suspicious. "Why, I am Harry Potter," he added with a wide grin and a teasing tone. "Everything you need to know about me you can find in the papers."

He felt Malfoy's shoulder pressed to his side go rigid, but his flow of words never stopped or stumbled, and he didn't reveal his surprise by turning towards Harry.

The witch's eyes betrayed her momentary shock, which she instantly tried to conceal by trying to imitate Harry's cheeky, teasing expression. It didn't look very natural on her, Harry noted.

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Potter… oh, I forgot, Harry. My name is Bianca." Her voice became a languid drawl Harry was rather used to from unknown witches. "Is it true, what Witch Weekly says? That red-heads are your type?"

For a second, Harry considered whether it was safe to continue playing along with his self-proclaimed role; finally, he decided that it would seem more suspicious if he backed away now. His instincts were telling him she was trouble, but he reckoned no harm could come from sticking to the tried and tested method of inventing things about 'himself'.

Malfoy didn't seem to be agreeing with him, though. He chose that second to give Harry a vicious kick under the table, which was impossible to hide. It made Harry jolt out of his track and forget what he wanted to say. "Sorry, but that's not true at all," he hissed, shooting an accusing glance into Malfoy's direction. In the meantime, his mouth switched to auto-pilot and he found himself sprouting one of his standard answers, which, he realised belatedly, was not the most fortunate in this situation. "I only go for blondes."

Harry could feel Malfoy tense again for a second, but he vowed that this time he would be ready for whatever unpleasantness the other man chose to dish out to him. Meanwhile, his attention turned back to the witch erroneously named Bianca, and he caught the tail end of a surprised glance darting from him towards Malfoy and back. When she noticed that Harry was looking at her again, her gaze turned calculated for a second, then she gave him a quick smile. For some unfathomable reason, she seemed flustered.

"Oh, I think that's… understandable," she said hastily, then cleared her throat and started looking for a waiter. Harry waited until her attention was turned away from him to school his own features. He could feel the tension in Malfoy's shoulder pressed to his own slowly ebbing away.

For the rest of the night, Bianca kept her distance. Harry found himself talking about herbology with the third member of the party, whose name turned out to be Tariq. He was surprised how much he actually remembered from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Before the fifth round of beers, Malfoy tapped his arm to signal that it was time for their departure. The gesture called forth one of those strange looks Bianca had been shooting Harry all through the night. As much as it initially amused him, now it was starting to make him wonder whether he had managed to blow his cover, and that prospect wasn't funny.

They visited two other inns very briefly, to introduce Harry and cement his new identity. To his annoyance, Malfoy must have decided that the best way to keep Harry from talking was to put him off balance by periodically intruding into his personal space and acting altogether too friendly with him. Harry definitely didn't like the way he kept grabbing his arm and kept practically dragging him along by his cuff. He supposed he would have to put up with it for the time being as he had no way to reprimand Malfoy until they returned to the privacy of his flat. On the other hand, if Malfoy's acquaintances saw them acting as if they were close, it would help assure them that Harry was someone who could be trusted. Still, Harry would have preferred if Malfoy kept his hands to himself.

After leaving the last establishment Harry immediately extracted himself from Malfoy's grip. He was glad to be out of there and, quite frankly, not disappointed when Malfoy told him that the time was not yet right for them to make a visit to the other end of Knockturn Alley. He just wanted to get away from prying eyes for the rest of the night.

Malfoy gave him an amused glance over his shoulder, as if saying 'you got yourself into this, Potter'. Harry decided to act as if he hadn't noticed it. He sure as hell didn't need a scene while they were still out there and Harry feared that would be inevitable if Malfoy continued with his little act. He didn't really blame him, though. The first thing he had learnt in his line of work was that he just couldn't expect a civilian to remain professional; he was tempted to add: especially not if said civilian's last name was Malfoy.

That didn't mean he wasn't ready to confront his host and ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing immediately after the front door clicked closed behind their backs.

Malfoy didn't seem surprised by the veiled accusation. "I'm just working with what you've given me, Potter," he said.

"Which is?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"Oh, come on, Potter. You can't be that thick! You're hopefully aware that after that little declaration of yours, the streets are going to be full with the news that you're my new boy toy by tomorrow morning." Harry didn't like the leer Malfoy gave him. He rolled his eyes.

"I did not _declare_ anything the like." Then, seeing the mocking lift of Malfoy's eyebrow, he added, "It was a slip. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't kicked me. And it wouldn't have meant anything if you hadn't started acting up."

Malfoy shrugged, looking anything but apologetic.

"How was I supposed to know that you didn't mean anything by it?"

"You were supposed to know when I tried to shake you off. And anyhow, why on Earth would you think I wanted you to start acting like that?"

There was a resounding silence after that declaration. Harry didn't care if the leer was still firmly in place on Malfoy's face because at least, he stopped talking. Harry hoped that meant that he had finally come to his senses and they could just forget this little interlude because he just realised that he was too tired to argue or, indeed, too tired to be able to think of anything but sleep right now. This realisation brought up another unexpected problem.

"You don't have a sofa. Where am I going to sleep?" he asked.

"I have a queen-sized bed."

Harry felt the urge to roll his eyes again. It seemed Malfoy was determined to have the last word in this immature game. He squinted at him with a tired glare.

"I think I'll pretend I didn't just hear you suggesting that I sleep in your bed. And you tell me you have a spare bed hidden somewhere," he said, forming the words carefully, so that Malfoy would definitely not be able to find a way to misinterpret them.

"I don't," Malfoy said. Harry could have gladly strangled him for that flippant tone, but that would have been hardly professional conduct. So he just gave up.

"Then I'll just sleep in here, on the spot where your sofa should be standing…"

"Wouldn't recommend it. Potions fumes can be pretty harmful."

"Then just point me to a horizontal surface and it'll do."

"There's the bed."

Finally, Harry ended up stomping into the bedroom and casting a couple of cushioning charms he had learnt from the bloke in Quality Quidditch Supplies on the floor next to Malfoy's bed, then he stole Malfoy's bedspread and burrowed himself in for the night.

Malfoy got in a couple of minutes later.

"Your loss, Potter," were his last words.

And finally: blessed silence.

He was startled awake again in the middle of the night by a sudden onset of rhythmic creaking sounds coming from the bedsprings. Harry's sleepy mind struggled with surprise and embarrassment when he recognised their likely cause, then muttered words reached his ears and he went rigid with shock...

"Mmmyeah… Oh, yes, Harry… my sweet… sweet piece of arse! Take it! You like my cock? I knew you'd be tight… so tight! Aaaaah yeeesss!"

Mortified, Harry threw a glance to his watch and saw that only ten minutes had passed since he had closed his eyes. He blew out the breath he had been holding noisily.

"Har-har. Very funny, Malfoy," he grumbled.

His answer was a snickering sound that came from the bed.

"You're so _up_tight, Potter," Malfoy chortled some more, most likely at the way he had pronounced 'uptight' so that the first syllable was barely audible.

"Shut up and let me sleep," Harry grumbled, tuning his back to Malfoy.

"If you start snoring, I'll wake you up again."

"I don't snore," Harry said, and then proceeded to do just that.

**\\(****TOT)//**

The next day Harry woke up feeling grumpy. His foul mood was prompted by three things: one, that he had forgotten to take out his contacts the previous night and now his eyes itched like hell; two, that Malfoy was apparently used to sleeping in late; and three, that he was hungry and there was nothing in the pantry that looked edible.

He was contemplating the risks of leaving for grocery shopping alone, but he could hardly show his face in Diagon Alley, and now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall ever having seen a grocery shop in Knockturn Alley. Failing all else, he could have Apparated into Muggle London and then tried to get back there through the intertwined patches of wards meandering through the whole length of Knockturn Alley – the inhabitants were usually paranoid enough that they would only trust their own wards and then not bother removing them before leaving – if he weren't afraid of losing body parts in the attempt.

Thank Merlin, he didn't get far enough with the thought to actually implement it; he was interrupted by a message from Tonks to expect her arrival within ten minutes. She came to drop off some of Harry's clothes and to obtain a lock of his hair.

He had talked it through with Ginny before he had left that warehouse with Malfoy, and they agreed that it would be prudent if he didn't just disappear. Thus, she volunteered to convince a couple of the remaining Order members to make appearances in his skin. It was fortunate that he was suspended from his job for the next few weeks – the patrol duty in Knockturn Alley not counting, as he didn't have to report back – so the number of obligatory appearances would be limited.

Tonks had left Harry to contemplate the crime Ginny had committed by packing the most atrocious sets of clothes she could find in his wardrobe (almost exclusively ones she had talked him into buying). They were the uncomfortable, body-fitting sort that didn't match Harry's usual style at all. He reckoned he would be wearing robes over them most of the time.

Malfoy appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, dressed and ready for the day. He must have woken up earlier, most likely at the racket Tonks had made when she had stumbled over the doormat. His eyes drifted at the new suitcase lying open in front of Harry, and he stopped to silently observe Harry rifling through its contents. Then he went and made some more some of that god-awful Pu-erh tea of his – the one that tasted as if one of his living ingredients had crawled into it and then died. Once done, he disappeared behind the pantry to spend the day with his cauldron.

Harry found himself having to do the grocery shopping after all.

He followed Malfoy into his little smelly sanctuary and, after concluding the usual ritual pissing contest between them, got Malfoy to tell him the way to get through the house into Muggle London. Turned out he didn't even have to go far; there was a small store right on the other side of the street. Harry reckoned that he wouldn't have much to do until nightfall, so he took the time to explore the neighbourhood a little: to find where the Muggle side ended and the wizarding side began, to locate possible escape routes if he ever needed them in the future. He also found a fast food restaurant and ate a late breakfast of burger and fries, topped with his favourite diluted coffee.

Around five in the afternoon, Malfoy slipped out of his laboratory, looking like a rat drenched in sewer water and indescribable oily substances. He seemed uncomfortable with the taken-aback look Harry wasn't able to stop giving him when he saw him emerging. He snapped that he wasn't going to cook for him, too, and then banged the door of the bathroom shut and spent the next half hour in the shower. Harry took it as his cue to get on with making something for supper if he didn't intend to go hungry.

They hit the pubs approximately at the same time as the previous evening. Harry wasn't surprised when Malfoy led them back to the first one they had visited. From the fact that they had spent more time there than in all the others together, and that Malfoy had actually bothered to sit down and talk with that circle of people instead of conducting his business standing at the counter, clued him in that those people or some of them were his friends and not just his buyers or sellers. Harry didn't really mind spending some more time with them instead of on his investigation. During that time he was able to assess how well his cover had gone down.

Unexpectedly, just a couple of steps before they could have reached the door to the inn, Malfoy grabbed the front of Harry's robes and pulled him to the side, into a shadowed niche between two closely built houses. Harry was about to ask why they had stopped when Malfoy directed a serious look at him.

"Potter, you do know that I wasn't joking last night." Harry made a funny face because the first thing that had come to mind about 'last night' was the supposed wet dream Malfoy had enacted for Harry's benefit and for his own amusement. "Oh, not that!" And apparently, he was also a mind reader. "I mean that these people really do think that we are… together."

Harry felt the urge to roll his eyes again, but he refrained from actually doing it.

"Ah, come on, Malfoy! What reason would they have to?"

"What reason?" Malfoy seemed to be amused. "That you as good as told my dear meddlesome friend Bianca that we were. And even if you hadn't, it was only a matter of time for her to come to the most obvious conclusion."

"What? I didn't…" Harry began to complain, but then his mind processed the rest of what had just been said. "You're gay?"

Apparently, Malfoy didn't have any hang-ups about eye-rolling. "Missing the point as always, Potter."

"And you're avoiding it."

Malfoy shrugged. Harry thought he wouldn't get an answer, but then Malfoy must have changed his mind because he gave him a cautious nod. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if he was expecting Harry to be offended, but his tone remained flippant. "Surprised? Or are you bothered by it?"

Harry thought it over and found that he was neither. He shook his head.

The new information fit seamlessly into the imaginary puzzle named Malfoy, which, now it seemed, hadn't been shoved as far to the back of his mind as he had thought. Now Harry understood why Malfoy had so readily assumed that Harry had expected him to play the role of his… boyfriend, and why he didn't seem to mind doing it. But that still didn't mean that Harry would be willing to overlook the liberties Malfoy took by casually touching him.

Malfoy winked at him and stepped out of the shadow, heading towards the inn once again. Harry followed him on autopilot.

Actually, if he thought about it some more, he had to concede that acquiring a… pretend-boyfriend, for the lack of a better term, would only serve to cement his cover, as the 'real' Harry Potter had the solid reputation of being straight.

They were on their way to the table when Malfoy suddenly stopped dead in his tracks; Harry barely avoided bumping into him. He almost jumped when he felt slightly chilly fingers closing around his wrist; looking down, he identified them as Malfoy's, so he was able to suppress the urge to free himself.

"What is it?" he hissed. They were standing close enough for Malfoy to be able to hear him despite the general noise level.

Malfoy hadn't stayed still for more than a second, though. He deftly sidestepped the main stream of the crowd and navigated them to a slightly darker part of the inn next to the counter, disguising his action by ordering two drinks. Harry had to admit that there was a benefit to having inadvertently produced an excuse to let Malfoy lean that close to him. They could discuss important things while giving the impression that… Harry didn't really want to think about what they looked to be doing.

"See those two sitting at our table?" Malfoy's breath tickled Harry's earlobe; he must have been really close because his words were barely more than an impression of air currents.

Harry let his gaze wander, seemingly randomly. He spotted the two hooded figures sitting there while his glance swept through the whole establishment, but he didn't dare let it linger on them for long. Then he noticed that there were mirrors mounted above the shelves at the back of the counter. They were apparently used to announce the drink prizes written onto the reflecting surface with colourful paints. They provided him with a good view of the whole establishment. He sought out his targets and he was able to observe them more closely while he was pretending to be contemplating what he wanted to order next.

"Those two don't belong here," Malfoy supplied him with the confirmation of what he had already suspected. At first glance, he had mistaken them for the two who had been sitting at the table the previous night. What distinguished them, though, was the near palpable aura of… menace surrounding them. The other patrons left a wide strip around them, even though the rest of the room was fairly crowded. This made them stand out like Thestrals trying to hide within a herd of Unicorns – even if you couldn't see them, the void betrayed their presence.

"Any idea who they are?"

As close as he was, Harry could feel Malfoy nodding.

"Their regular haunt is the Harpy Nest, a tavern where I was going to take you later today. It's frequented by people… who might know more about how to find our target. But those are usually not in the habit of mingling in this part of Knockturn Alley." Malfoy's voice sounded distrustful.

"How do you know they are from there?" Harry couldn't help but ask. He couldn't see anything that would distinguish them from the other guests.

"Tentacles," Malfoy whispered into his ear.

Harry could feel a shudder passing through the body leaning to his. He was about to ask Malfoy what he meant, but then one of the hoods turned slightly his way and he spotted it: two off-white, near-purple, flexible tendrils with a thick, complicated pattern of little dark suckers on the underside reaching out from under the black fabric and disappearing from Harry's sight when the stranger turned his… head? – Harry was hard pressed to correctly identify the body-part – away again.

"What the hell is that?" Harry whispered, not being able to tear his eyes away from the spot, even though the bizarre view had already disappeared from his sight.

"Illithids," Malfoy answered his question. "Humanoids with a mug like the Giant Squid. They call themselves mind flayers and are in the employ of Castor Dilato."

Harry felt excitement surging in his blood. He stomped down on it firmly. Yes, this was the man he was working to get closer to; on the other hand, he didn't figure those… employees of his would prove very accommodating if he just went up to them, demanding to be lead to their boss -- even if he disregarded his instinctive apprehension that came from their rather bizarre look.

"Never heard of things like those," he breathed, chilled by the thought of something like these creatures actually existing.

Malfoy gave out a soft snort right in his ear.

"You wouldn't find things like that in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ or those Auror books of yours. You'd have to search somewhere different."

"Where different?"

There was a second when Malfoy took the time to throw a glance at the creatures in question, which was probably not meant for dramatic effect but still came across like it. Then Malfoy turned back to him, and for some reason only he could have explained, he was grinning.

"Monster Manual," he said, then continued with rattling off a list of information about uncanny mind-reading powers, disgusting culinary habits of eating human brains and some sort of dice throwing technique Harry suspected to be related to Arithmancy. Harry felt his heart wanting to jump out his throat and was frantically searching his mind for spells that would work against creatures like these if it came down to a fight, only to be interrupted by Malfoy's incredulous laughter.

He almost gave himself a whiplash, wrenching his gaze away from the hooded figures to find out what was so funny. From the look he got, it became quickly obvious that Malfoy was laughing at his cost.

"I can't believe you fell for that." There was a glint of amusement dancing in the grey eyes that made Harry want to connect his knuckles with that delicate nasal bone. "They might call themselves fancy names, but they are actually just wizards, like you and me, if somewhat uglier. It's all just PR: useful in their line of work. The appendages are the result of curses gone wrong." For a second, Malfoy had a look on his face that said he was well able to relate.

"Oh." That was the only answer Harry was capable of giving.

"What do you reckon they're doing here?" Harry asked after having recovered his dignity. His glance darted back at one of the hooded figures in time to witness it as one of the tentacles swiped down on a chunk of meat. It grabbed up the food from the plate, then the whole slimy thing disappeared under the hood.

Harry shuddered. "I'm never eating sushi again."

"That's called takoyaki," Malfoy remarked haughtily under his breath, his voice still vibrating with humour.

"No, it is not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, and shut up now. People are looking."

Harry felt Malfoy shrugging against him and he became conscious of how closely their bodies were pressed together. It seemed rather important to have Malfoy at a respectable distance again, but that required solving the situation first. "What do you suggest we do?" he asked, wrenching his mind back on track.

Malfoy appeared to be thinking, but only for the duration of a heartbeat or two.

"They are obviously here waiting for someone. Do you think they are waiting for us? And if they are…" Malfoy trailed off; Harry understood he didn't want to voice details he didn't want to be overheard.

"Only one way to find out," he murmured. "You up to it?"

Malfoy's chest pressed briefly to Harry's front as he took a last, steadying breath; the warm gush of air in Harry's ear left a tingling sensation in its wake.

"Let's."

Harry waited until Malfoy was standing firmly on his feet again, then pushed up from the bar stool, automatically taking position in front of the other wizard. Malfoy didn't object, but his fingers were back around Harry's wrist. Harry felt irritation welling up in his guts at the unwanted touch, but he stomped down on it. At least so he would have an inkling of where Malfoy was standing behind him.

It went easier than expected, but not easy enough to cause suspicion. Harry had a feeling that the whole meeting had been choreographed to achieve the perfect balance between an interrogation by the henchmen of a crime organisation and a job interview. Actually, to Harry and Malfoy's greatest surprise, that was what it had boiled down to: allegedly, his 'skills' as the infamous doppelganger of Harry Potter were needed to perform a delicate operation for no other than the very person he was trying to get closer to… He didn't need Malfoy to forcefully drag him out to the toilet halfway through the interview to tell him that it was a trap.

"Calm down, Malfoy, I know it is." Harry shrugged to shake Malfoy's hand off his shoulder and straightened his robe. He was not backing down, damn it.

He expected Malfoy to start arguing with him about going back out, then storm off in anger and leave him to his own devices as soon as he realised that he couldn't change Harry's mind, but all he got was an appraising glance. Then Malfoy nodded slowly.

"Well, as long as you're clear on that..."

Harry couldn't help a slightly taken aback grunt.

"Thought so," Malfoy said, then started rummaging in one of his pockets. "Here. You're crap at Occlumency; you're going to need this."

Harry reached for the small vial of dark liquid then looked back at Malfoy questioningly.

Malfoy shrugged and leaned to the wall. "I expected you to be stubborn. So I thought, why not get a little control over the situation?"

"Meaning?" Harry frowned at Malfoy's casual smirk. He didn't like riddles.

"Meaning that, in all likelihood, the two gentlemen out there are now utilising our absence to spike your drink with truth serum. They aren't called 'mind flayers' just as a joke. No, it's not Veritaserum," Malfoy cut in before Harry could have asked how they had managed to get into possession of a Ministry-controlled potion. "But if you didn't have that," and here he nodded towards the vial in Harry's hand, "…you'd soon be wishing it _was_ Veritaserum."

Harry looked down on the small, unassuming object in his palm, then back to Malfoy.

"How did you know…"

"Didn't. I always have it with me."

"And what about you? Do you have another dose for yourself?"

Malfoy shrugged. "No but they don't expect me to drink after we just left them alone with our glasses. Besides, I'm not the suspect here."

Harry frowned. "I could just refuse to drink as well."

Malfoy nodded. "True, you could. And never see them again."

The statement was followed by a pregnant silence, then Malfoy stuck out his chin, somehow managing to point it at the antidote. "Drink all of it and then…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The door to the bathroom flung open; Malfoy, who had been leaning at it, was shoved forward. There were voices coming from the other side, one of which Harry identified as belonging to the interrogator who had done most of the talking during the past half hour and went by the name Nash. He hadn't been told the name of his silent companion.

In the next instant, Malfoy was on him. One of his hands gripped Harry's robes and pushed him bodily into the tiled wall. Caught by surprise, Harry's head connected painfully with the hard surface. Malfoy's body followed his and pressed into his front, then all of a sudden, Malfoy's lips fastened to his own. His first impression was that Malfoy was trying to suffocate him with his tongue.

Malfoy's free hand grabbed Harry's fingers with the vial between them and then, without preamble, stuffed them down the front of Harry's trousers. Harry's protesting groan was swallowed by Malfoy's insistent mouth and transformed into a different kind of noise which made his ears burn. A heat of completely a different nature was generated by bony knuckles pressing into a body part of his that was taking altogether too much interest in the happenings.

The only reason that Malfoy hadn't found himself kicked into the row of urinals on the opposite wall a few seconds later was that Harry was hard pressed – in more than just one way – to hold on to the vial. A strong yet deceptively slender arm had curled around his waist, and a quick bite to his lower lip made it clear that he was either going to cooperate or risk his cover. It wasn't like he had much of a choice.

Thus, this was the sight that greeted Nash when he entered the back room.

"What are you…" The steps stopped half through the door, their owner hesitating. Harry, his mouth otherwise occupied, was decidedly not in the state of being able to provide an answer. Not that it wasn't glaringly obvious what Malfoy wanted him to think they were doing.

Malfoy slowly detached his lips and turned towards the intruder; Harry was only just able to catch the quickly assembled mask of annoyance settling on his face. The strategic brush of fingers to his neither regions was probably meant as a warning for Harry to hold his tongue. It had been unnecessary. Even if Harry had been capable of any coherent speech at this point, he had no idea what to say to make this disaster of a diversion tactic work.

Malfoy didn't say anything either. Apparently, all that was needed was a look from him. The next instant, to Harry's shock, Nash was backing out of the door with a muttered apology. He even made sure to carefully close it after himself.

By the time Malfoy turned back, Harry had managed to get back his bearings. He frowned at the triumphant smirk on Malfoy's lips, while he couldn't help but notice that they had that shiny, freshly kissed look to them.

"That was the lamest trick in the book," Harry grumbled; he concentrated on extracting Malfoy's hand from his pants while avoiding brushing certain parts of his body with it.

"And it always works. Just admit it," Malfoy said with a wink and a sudden move below the waist, making Harry gasp, before he relented. "I win hands down," he added cheerfully.

Harry groaned at the immature pun. Malfoy's gaze swept curiously over the slight bulge tenting Harry's trousers. Harry hastily hid it beneath loose robes.

"Well then, bottoms up!"

Malfoy gave him an amused look when he wiped the dampness lingering from the previous kiss off his lips before lifting the bottle to drink its contents.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"That went better than expected," Malfoy said, smirking. Harry could only groan in answer, while he felt himself being deposited in the middle of the living room floor. Malfoy clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You shouldn't have drunk so much, Potter."

All things considered, Harry was amazed that he was still able to recognise at all that he was being mocked.

"Amn't drunk," he muttered, wondering whether the nausea he could feel creeping up on him would go away if he just sat very still. At least Malfoy had stopped pawing him, now that his support wasn't necessary anymore to keep Harry on his feet. "Your antidote's ussshlessh."

There was a sudden bout of tinkling laughter coming from the general direction of the kitchen, but it stopped rather suddenly, like the sound of a radio being turned off.

"It's not useless. It helped you to maintain your control and prevented you from blurting out anything that crossed your mind at any given second. It just doesn't alleviate the outward signs of the drug you have been given. If it did, they'd have known you weren't affected… now that's what I'd call useless. Don't you?"

Harry was forced to concede. Malfoy was right; it had gone well… or not bad at any rate. He suddenly remembered and stuck his fingers inside his robe pocket, rummaging for the little card that had been slipped in there. Once he found it, he took it out, careful to not crumple it with his numbed fingers. He hadn't had time to examine it after it had been given to him; Malfoy had dragged him away from the table and its other occupants rather insistently at the time, denying him the opportunity to read it or even just to give it a closer look.

The light of the old-fashioned gas lamp mounted on the opposite wall was suddenly blocked by the shadow of two legs stepping in front of Harry. A fine-boned hand appeared in front of his sight and reached for the little card; Harry was unable to do anything when two fingers delicately plucked it out of his grasp.

"Don't crumple it. It's our only ticket through the wards into the Dilato mansion," Malfoy's strangely disembodied voice murmured. "I'd rather not go all through that once again just because you weren't careful with it." Harry didn't understand what Malfoy was talking about. It wasn't like he was the one who had to drink that truth serum, was he?

He must have asked that aloud, because Malfoy gave him a frown. He just looked at Harry, contemplating, for several seconds before he decided to answer.

"I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I returned with the drinks, only to discover Nash poking at your forehead with his wand. You should teach me how you Aurors do these kinds of things; yours seems to be able to endure a damn lot more than my Glamours…" A light caress tickled the sweaty skin above Harry's brows; it took him a few seconds to realise that it came from Malfoy's finger smoothing over the place where his scar could normally be seen. "You're lucky I got there in time," he said finally.

Harry thought Malfoy wasn't making sense, but the reason eluded him at the moment. Then there were two hands under his elbows, pulling him up from the carpet to his not very stable feet. "Come on, Harry, before you fall asleep on the spot."

At first, Harry had trouble determining what it was that had felt off about that statement. Then he remembered that Malfoy had been more or less forced to call him by his first name the whole evening; it had been a part of his cover. It sounded surreal. But it was still a whole lot better than being called those ridiculous pet names Malfoy used as some kind of idiotic code whenever he wanted to warn him to steer clear from a topic.

On second thought, the feeling of wrongness might have been caused by the amusement in Malfoy's tone he hadn't bothered to conceal.

"You think this is funny?" Harry complained after Malfoy started snickering about how he wasn't able to put one foot in front of the other on their way to the bedroom.

"Believe me, Potter, it _is_ funny," came the answer in the form of a husky whisper too close to his ear, the unexpected sensation causing Harry to stumble. An arm, curled snugly around his middle, held him back from falling on his face.

"You could at least keep the groping to a minimum," Harry grumbled unhappily.

There was a sigh, warm air tickling his nape and rising goose bumps all the way down along his spine.

"I was wondering when you'd start complaining again." The tone sounded amused, still. "But perhaps you weren't because you were enjoying it. Tell me, Harry, just why aren't you bothered more by this?"

Harry took a second to actually think about the answer. It didn't make any sense. He _was_ bothered. Just not complaining.

"Why should I? It's not like you would stop if I were."

His answer caused Malfoy to flinch. Harry replayed it in his mind and realised how that must have sounded.

"I mean, you might be gay, but it isn't like you are really coming on to me. This is just the role we have to play right now." And you like needling me, he added silently. He wasn't befuddled enough to say it out loud and remind Malfoy of his favourite pastime.

There was a second silence then Malfoy's arms tightened around his torso and his weight was lowered onto a soft surface.

"Are you sure about that, Potter? You might just be in denial."

His shoes were being pulled off and his robes tugged over his head. Malfoy hesitated over the trousers maybe for a second then Harry felt the brush of cold fingertips nimbly undoing his fly and the trousers joined his robes somewhere on the floor. Harry was almost asleep but astonishingly, he found enough lucidity in him to deliver a last, coherent argument.

"You're mixing up the terms heterosexual and homophobe, Malfoy. Why does everyone who isn't repulsed by homosexuality have to be gay by default?"

Wasn't that what Seamus always said?

**\\(****TOT)//**

The drug he had ingested played one more trick with his mind before it flushed out of his system. It started innocuously enough, with a feeling like a trickle of moisture in the juncture of his shoulder and neck where something warm was pressed to his body.

His feet were cold. He noticed that he was standing up to his ankles in cold water. Then he took a look around and saw that Hogwarts was sprawling behind his back, and the dark, icy swells of the lake were swirling around his legs.

He might have taken a step or two forward when he wasn't looking because the water was suddenly up his shins. He was wondering why he was there. Had he wanted to take a swim?

He couldn't feel the lake bottom beneath his soles anymore, or perhaps his toes were just too numbed by the cold by then. He had a feeling of floating, with his head just above the surface, but he wasn't treading the water and it was still holding him up. The source of heat had warmed part of his back, somehow weighing down on his shoulder, but he was freezing everywhere else. And, he noticed as the water had free access to his body's recesses, he was naked.

A touch on the small of his back, even colder than the water around him, made him flinch and lose his balance, causing his body to sink under the surface. As his face was covered by the cold waves, he was struggling with the urge to start thrashing. He knew that would only ensure that he start sinking like a stone. The cold touch went away for a bit, but when it returned, it sneaked around his waist once, then a second time, and didn't stop there.

Strangely, he wasn't panicking. It didn't feel as if the strong, boneless limb - was it a tentacle? - around his torso was trying to pull him down. It did keep him within the water, but it felt safe and… tantalising. And the warmth was still there. That one was the touch of a human, as Harry could clearly identify the feeling of fingers smoothing down his back – even if, technically, they should not have been able to, due to the tentacle wrapped around him – until they reached the swell of his arse where they stopped and… squeezed. And that… was the start of the most lucid, detailed and disturbing (and yes, also the most intensely sensual) wet dream Harry had ever experienced in his life.

It ended with the distant sense of a familiar male voice professing his undying love to Harry and the Giant Squid in the throes of shared passion.

The most mortifying thing about waking up after that was the dual feelings of the cooling dampness on his stomach which glued the sheet to his front, and Malfoy plastered to his back, snickering. And of course, he was also hogging the blanket. No wonder Harry had been cold enough for the sensation to even intrude into his dreams – except at the spot where Malfoy had snuggled to his back and drooled on him.

"That was quite the show, Potter," came the sultry voice from directly next to his ear. He jerked his shoulder to get Malfoy off.

Malfoy relented but only reluctantly, sprawling out on his back. The move revealed what Harry had already known from having felt it on his own skin: that he wasn't wearing anything. Neither was Harry, for that matter. Malfoy didn't seem to be embarrassed by Harry seeing the tell-tale smear on his belly, still glistening moistly in the warm morning light.

"Don't worry about it, it's an after-effect of the antidote," Malfoy said a few seconds later, his voice amused. "It sure as hell beats the screaming nightmares that the drug would have given you otherwise. Believe me, I know."

Harry turned to give him a scathing glare, nonetheless, and was briefly surprised at the lack of soreness in his backside – before he remembered that it had been just a dream.

"Why am I in your bed, anyhow?"

Malfoy didn't answer. He only rolled his eyes with that damn amusement still dancing in their corners. Then he tossed the blanket aside and got up, not bothering to cover his nudity, to make his way to the bathroom.

When Harry yelped out his name, scandalised, he had the guts to outright laugh at him and call him back on his previous statement about not being gay and therefore, Malfoy not needing to be all prudish in front of him. Harry didn't get the chance to tell him that it was not about sexual preferences but the fact that he had not wished to ever reach that degree of familiarity with him because Malfoy was not listening anymore, having closed himself into the bathroom and started the shower.

And of course, he used up all the warm water.

If it hadn't been for that bloody continually amused attitude, Harry would have thought Malfoy was on some kind of warpath: out for revenge because of something Harry had done to him recently. He just wished he knew what it was.

Oh yes, and who could forget the tea of evil Harry was forced to drink because Malfoy only had one teapot. Revenge, no doubt about it.

Harry was feeling a little better after he'd had breakfast. Physically, he was still somewhat under the weather, damn that potion. If he'd had to go in to work, he would have called in sick because, in case of an emergency, he wasn't sure he would have been able to handle a wizard duel in his present condition.

That made him think about the situation at his workplace. Tonks had taken a lock of his hair to be used with Polyjuice Potion if his presence were required. Not that he expected it would have to be used regularly. Robards had as good as told him that he didn't want to see his face for a couple of weeks, whether he was going on patrol in Knockturn Alley or taking an extended holiday to Hawaii.

The fact that it had been Tonks who had come had caught Harry off guard. He had expected Ginny to keep his disappearance secret and was now wondering who knew about it. When he pondered it some more, Tonks' involvement shouldn't have come to him as such a shock. If Ginny had told her who Harry supposedly was after, then her commitment to the case would go without saying.

Malfoy went out after breakfast, allegedly to buy ingredients for his potions. Harry wasn't certain he could take the declaration at face value, but it made no difference. He knew Malfoy wouldn't want to deliberately jeopardise his chances for finally catching his mother's murderer. On the other hand, for all Harry knew, Malfoy could have told him the truth and was really just buying ingredients. It didn't matter whether Harry thought he could believe him or not. Harry couldn't risk letting his guard completely down if he wanted to keep his hide intact in a hostile environment like Knockturn Alley.

He used the time he had to himself to clean up, cast a quick Laundry Charm on his used clothes – not as thorough as washing them would be, but it had to do for now – and then sat down to examine the fruit of the previous night's tribulations: the little card that had been pressed between his by then insensitive fingers at the end of the night.

It was made out of some thick material; now that he had more time to examine it, he decided that it was neither parchment nor paper. It had still retained the texture of fibres, so Harry's first hunch was that it was papyrus – not that he had ever before seen real papyrus from up close. It was approximately the size of a Muggle business card; black ink letters spelled out an address consisting of only a street and a house number. _103 Knockturn Alley_. Harry hadn't known that the houses in Knockturn Alley were even numbered; he had never before been able to discover any kind of identification on them.

The most interesting part of the card, though, wasn't its outward appearance, but the magic that seemed to be a part of it. Harry didn't dare use any of the stronger detection spells on it for fear that it could affect it, but he was able to learn that the card was supposed to work sort of like a portable charm to allow passage through an area that was magically protected against intruders. He wasn't able to discover whether it would only work once – most likely – or whether it would permit entrance to more than one person – he hoped so because he didn't fancy the thought of going in there without Malfoy to give him pointers about how to act when faced with customs he had no knowledge about. His understanding of Dark wizards might have been enough to successfully hunt down and catch them, but pretending to be one of them was an entirely different matter.

He was roused from his contemplations by the sharp sound of the front door being opened and closed hastily, followed by Malfoy stomping into the room. Harry's instincts screamed trouble even before he had taken a glance at Malfoy's face, noticing the colour of anxiety high on his cheeks. He was on his feet and ready without needing to be prompted.

"Pack your suitcase for an extended vacation. We need to go," was all Malfoy said before storming into the bedroom and – judging from the noises – proceeded to do just what he had suggested to Harry.

Harry didn't need much time with his own belongings, but instead of the suitcase Tonks had dropped off, he chose the duffel bag he had bought the first night. He hadn't yet unpacked the suitcase either, so it was only a matter of grabbing the stack of neatly folded clothes and stuffing it into the bag. He made a run for the bathroom and collected his toiletries, dropping them on the top of the pile. Then he closed his suitcase, pushed it under the bed, and he was ready to go.

To his surprise, Malfoy hadn't taken much longer to get ready either. He emerged with a small suitcase in his hand, approximately the size of Harry's duffel.

"What happened?" Harry asked while falling in with Malfoy's hurried steps and following him back to the door. Malfoy wasn't in a chatty mood but he was willing to give him the essentials.

"Hit Wizards. They stopped me on my way back and started asking questions about you, of all things."

"Me?" Harry hissed in surprise, his attention divided between the news and trying not to fall on his nose while taking the steps three at a time, practically flying down the back staircase of Malfoy's house – the one that led to the exit to the Muggle neighbourhood.

"You," Malfoy confirmed. He wasn't keeping in form like Harry; he was already somewhat short of breath – he was still the quicker one on his feet.

"They said you've been sighted with me and some known Dark wizards yesterday in a known establishment – figure that. …Started asking questions about how well I know you and whether I know where you are hiding. …Managed to throw them off but they know where I live, and I'm sure it's only a question of time before they start looking at the most obvious places."

It took Harry a couple of sentences to realise that Malfoy was not speaking about _him_ but his cover identity. The Hit Wizards had been tipped off about the doppelganger, which meant that apparently, someone had given the Ministry's fabrication more credit than it was worth. But Hit Wizards weren't, like Aurors, self-contained one person units within the Magical Law Enforcement. Their job description didn't allow them to take action on their own account; not without an order from above.

Harry's attention was pulled back to the present as they emerged from the darkness of the passageway onto the busy Muggle street. Malfoy had stopped in front of him, looking around briefly and pretending to browse house numbers before he made a decision and turned right. Harry had been one step behind him but the brief stop had allowed him to catch up, and was now walking next to him, instinctively shielding the civilian with him from danger by taking the side closer to the open road.

"Where are we going?" he asked, trying to keep his voice down as much as the noise allowed it, which meant that he had to repeat his question a bit louder. Malfoy didn't bother with stealth. Instead, he chose to act natural, as if they were just two people on a casual stroll and not flying from a pursuit. Harry had to admit the latter worked better in the situation.

"We're staying with _friends_," Malfoy answered.

At first Harry didn't think of it much, assuming that he was talking about acquaintances of his who would be willing to give them refuge. But Malfoy didn't offer an explanation about who those 'friends' were, which made Harry realise where he had got it wrong.

"You do have the card with you, right?"

Harry's answering grunt was followed by a contemplating frown.

"We aren't supposed to go there before nightfall."

"I know," Malfoy answered with a flippant smirk; it seemed slightly off-centre, betraying that Malfoy was a good deal more nervous under the frivolous exterior than he was willing to let on. Strangely, that served to put Harry at ease, realising that, against all appearances and his fears of the opposite, Malfoy was taking things seriously while making an effort to put up a façade and keeping a cool head. The grudging realisation that, if not for his past, he could have made a good Auror with those skills took Harry somewhat by surprise and caused him to remain silent for the next five minutes.

In the end, it was Malfoy who broke the somewhat strained silence between them some five blocks later.

"Potter," he started, and Harry was jolted out of his musings by hearing his last name, which had gone largely unused in the last days. "As much as it pains me to admit, I am not familiar with this… part of the city…" Meaning the Muggle world, Harry realised with another jolt. Of course, it would fall back on him to find a suitable place to hide before they would be able to retreat to their final destination of the night.

That's how they ended up first in a fast food restaurant, then in a cinema. Of course, Malfoy started complaining, which he didn't stop even after Harry introduced him to the concept of hiding in plain sight. Harry decided to bite the bullet and pacify him with the information that Hit Wizards never followed their suspect into the Muggle world; even most of the Aurors didn't. As far as they were concerned, the problem became the Muggles' responsibility as soon as the suspect set foot in their world, until he returned to wizard territory or breached the Statute of Secrecy. The only wizards in the Ministry who cared about what happened to Muggles were those from Level Three and the lads from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Harry hoped against hope that Malfoy would not exploit this knowledge for his own gain in the future… On second thought, he would probably have to make a trip to Ron's office sometime soon and ask him to Obliviate Malfoy. Somehow, he was certain Ron wouldn't object much.

"I should have known, Potter, that I could only expect trouble from you," Malfoy whispered during the 'romance'-scene of the random action movie for which Harry had bought two tickets with the intention of killing time away from prying eyes. "It's not enough that you forcibly move in to my place, now thanks to you, I probably won't be able to go back there ever again."

Harry sighed – not because he blamed Malfoy for having become bored with the performing ability of the busty blonde seducing the gun-wielding topless muscle-man; he wasn't really interested in the act either. He leaned closer to give Malfoy a whispered answer.

"You're not stupid so stop acting like you are. The Ministry knows there is no doppelganger. They sent the Hit Wizards after me because they don't like me sniffing around, and they sent them with false information because they obviously want to hush this up. Oh, and stop using my last name."

Harry felt Malfoy stiffening at his side, then there was a noise like polystyrene pebbles grinding together, most likely as Malfoy's grip closed convulsively around his popcorn.

"What does that mean, _Harry_?" came the furiously hissed question. "What reason would they have to prevent you from catching a wanted killer? Unless…"

"Later," Harry whispered back, realising belatedly that he didn't really want Malfoy to know that. He hoped that Malfoy would forget about their little conversation – not that he should really expect it, judging from the glare Malfoy had given him from the corner of his eyes before turning back his attention to the film.

Despite all of the complaining he had done, it turned out that Malfoy had actually liked the food enough to insist on going back to the restaurant and buy another pair of burgers for dinner. Harry thought that there would be trouble from the Muggles when Malfoy carelessly ordered Pu-Erh tea to drink with it, but it turned out they actually had it in their selection, though Malfoy was appalled that it came in a teabag and complained about quality.

Before long, street lights were being lit and they were on their way back to Knockturn Alley. Neither of them thought it would be a bright idea to go through the Leaky Cauldron, but Apparating was also out of question – nothing better to draw unwanted attention to their presence than a loud noise heralding their arrival. Thus, they resolved to risk going back the same route they had used on their way out. Hit Wizards didn't have a special licence for pursuing Dark wizards the way Aurors did, so they weren't allowed to break into Malfoy's flat without having actual charges on him – which they most likely hadn't or they would have restrained him when they had first stopped him for questioning.

Malfoy suggested the use of Disillusionment Charms but Harry vetoed the idea, knowing that it would only serve to betray their presence in case the Hit Wizards had put up detectors. The plain old tactic of sneaking past them, using shadows to hide in, would serve their purpose better. So sneak they did, and it proved to be easier than expected.

A sweaty fifteen seconds later, they were standing before their final destination. The house number, now visible on the gate, marked the place just as surely as the two distinctive hooded figures standing behind the dark-painted iron fence did.

Harry stopped at a sharp tug on his robe sleeve and turned his head to look at Malfoy. The other didn't open his mouth, but the look in his eyes spoke for itself. Harry gave him a nod in confirmation to the unvoiced question: this was _the_ house. The answering hardening of those eyes told Harry that Malfoy was just as determined to get in as he was.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Nash and his tentacle-faced colleague were waiting for them at the large gate – it was a real wrought-iron gate in a fence whose wrist-thick bars went up to the height of a small giant and sported nasty hooked spikes at their ends. The fence didn't surround the whole house, just a smallish courtyard in front of the L-shaped building's front door. If it had been a Muggle neighbourhood, Harry would have called it a drive. Cars weren't popular in the magical world, as the first converted Muggle vehicle, the Knight Bus, had become associated with wizards and witches who were not skilled or rich enough to travel magically. It didn't mean anything that Knockturn Alley was barely wide enough for a motorcycle to drive through; Harry had had at least one truly disturbing adventure with the aforementioned Knight Bus to prove that lack of manoeuvring space would not be a problem for a wizard.

They were greeted casually, as if their presence there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Harry detected no security check being performed on them. They weren't even asked to present the card they have been given, just pointed in the direction of the gate that had opened on their arrival and suggested they start walking. Malfoy apparently didn't feel secure in the knowledge that the card was in Harry's possession. He had most likely gone through the same logic that Harry had earlier, and had arrived at the same conclusion: that there was no knowing what might happen. Thus, he grabbed Harry's hand with the casual confidence of someone enjoying a 'boyfriend' status, and pushed their clasped fingers into the pocket that hid the object in question, so that they were both touching it while entering the gate. There was no visible or otherwise tangible evidence that something happened or did not happen on its account.

Once they were inside, they were greeted not by the wizard they had expected to meet, nor one of his employees, but a woman who looked much like the Asian version of the busty blonde looking down on them from the wide-screen that afternoon. Harry was somewhat startled by her. He hadn't met this kind of artificially improved beauty outside of the Muggle world yet. Her whole appearance screamed 'FAKE' with capital letters. Even Rita Skeeter looked and acted more natural than she did.

"I'm sorry, but Castor is not here," she said, preceding the introductions. Her voice, in contrast to her appearance, belonged to someone who was used to being taken seriously. Her personality didn't match the image of the dumb elbow-decoration Harry had expected to find underneath the sparkly exterior. "He was called away on business this afternoon, but don't worry, I won't send you away empty-handed."

She came down the grand staircase she had been standing on, and Harry had to revise his previous statement: her hair colour – which was actually closer to strawberry-blond, he realised now that the lights didn't hit it from an angle that made it glow in the darkness like a halo – and her décolletage might have been fake, but she very obviously had a class of her own. The strange clash of impressions made Harry suspicious of what she really was. Either she wasn't just a trophy girlfriend or a flavour of the week, or else she was damn good at pretending.

Malfoy had apparently been just as taken aback by her as Harry was, but he managed to shake the shock a lot quicker. He pulled away from Harry and stepped forward to introduce himself, as courtesy demanded. Turned out he shouldn't have bothered, as she was obviously well aware of their identities.

"So, Harry… and Mister Malfoy…" She offered her hand first to Harry, then to Malfoy, who actually lifted it to his lips and pretended to kiss it. She seemed to appreciate the gesture because she gave him a smile. "My name is Lucy. Do you mind if I call you Draco? It feels odd to call you by your family name when I cannot do the same for your partner. It would suggest I had a reason to be on more familiar terms with him. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Harry felt his face heat up at the seductive glance she bestowed upon him, especially as she continued with a slow examination of his body from top to bottom.

Malfoy coughed politely. "No, we wouldn't," he said in a strained voice. Harry silently congratulated him on his act. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Malfoy was jealous.

Lucy just took it in stride with a dismissing nod in his direction, while her gaze was still fixed upon Harry. It was quite rude; both to Malfoy who went ignored, and himself. He didn't appreciate being ogled. Fortunately, when one had been the centre of unwanted attention of all sorts for as long as he had done, one learnt to deal with it.

"If Mister Dilato is not here, then what are we to expect of this visit, Miss Lucy?" he asked while pretending not to have noticed the blatant flirtation.

"Just Lucy, handsome. No need to be so formal," she purred, seemingly not deterred in the least by Harry's veiled rejection. "I see how it is with you, straight to the point. You're very similar to the real Harry Potter in that, you know?"

Harry refused to become flustered. Instead he tilted his head to a stubborn angle and answered the unvoiced accusation, looking straight into her eyes.

"That's the point, isn't it? I'm supposed to be similar."

His response managed to win a startled laugh, which rang too innocent, as if it had come from someone else entirely.

"All right, Harry, Draco." Lucy finally acknowledged Malfoy's presence again, if only for the short time while she gave him a nod because she turned back to Harry again after that. "Castor has plans for you, which require that you stay where he is able to call upon you at any given time. I've heard you had some trouble this morning, so I believe it won't be a problem if I ask you to stay in the mansion with the other employees. I have already prepared your quarters."

Harry tried to decide whether it should have come as a surprise that she knew this much about their lives. Perhaps not. And she didn't sound like she would accept a no as an answer.

"We would like to discuss this," Harry told her, and not just because he thought she had expected it.

Lucy nodded with another smile that seemed to say 'naturally', and pointed them towards a sitting area to the left in a small alcove that had no door and was packed with bookshelves. Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and started tugging him in that direction.

Malfoy gave out an indignant grunt, but only struggled until he realised that Harry was using the move to covertly cast a Muffliato with Malfoy's wand hidden within his robe sleeve.

The ensuing discussion was short and to the point. They both knew that they would be in danger of discovery if they stayed, but they also agreed that they might not get another chance to get this close. Their staying was not really a matter of choice.

"You do know that if we stay, you can't step out of your role even if we are in private, right?" Malfoy asked. Harry nodded. He had already taken that into consideration, and while he couldn't say he was entirely happy with it, it was a small price to pay.

"You can't either."

"I don't have… oh right." Malfoy looked shocked for a second, but he quickly got his act together and gave Harry a leer, despite the fact that the colour rising on his cheeks betrayed his slight uneasiness with the situation.

They wasted no words on discussing the possibility of going back.

Lucy received their answer with an air that suggested she had never doubted it would be a positive one. To their discomfort, it seemed she considered the business talk to be concluded at that point, and returned to her previous flirting. Harry felt doubly uncomfortable, because he had to keep his act as Malfoy's lover in mind and behave accordingly. She didn't make it easy for him.

"So this is what the real Harry Potter looks like," she said just before they arrived to the aforementioned rooms they were to stay in. "I always wondered…"

Harry had an uncomfortable feeling, being in the focus of her scrutiny.

"Something the matter?" he asked, pretending to be casual and trying his hardest to not let his fear of being recognised show on his face. He wasn't as good an actor as Malfoy, but he managed.

"Oh you know, just… I had only ever seen him in photos in the _Prophet_ and in the centrefold of _Witch Weekly_." A choking noise coming from Malfoy interrupted her briefly but she pretended not to have noticed it. Harry followed her example. "All that 'boy hero' and 'larger than life' stuff one hears… I thought he was shorter."

Harry blinked. To say he had been taken aback would have been mild understatement. He had sort of lost his mental footing in the face of her obvious teasing, especially because she was, again, playing the role of the stupid blonde while only minutes before, she had given evidence that she was anything but. However, Malfoy didn't miss his clue to step into his role of jealous boyfriend and save Harry from having to answer. Afterward, Harry wondered whether Dobby had learnt the meaning of the word 'save' from his masters or the other way around.

"Do not worry your pretty head about it, my lady." Malfoy's grip on Harry's shoulders became blatantly possessive and there was a smirk on his face that Harry should have recognised in retrospect. "He's… ah…compensating for it in other areas," was Malfoy's quite uncharacteristically rude remark.

He won another shocked giggle from Lucy, and the right to examine their new room in private. Only when the last echoes of her high heels coming down against the tiled floor had already died down did Harry figure out what exactly Malfoy had meant by his last comment. It didn't fail to make him blush and wonder whether Malfoy really thought… He hastily pulled his mind out of the gutter, angry that he had let himself be distracted by irrelevant matters.

He was relieved to discover that 'their quarters', even though they were meant to share, contained two twin beds. He never really liked sleeping on the floor, but it would still be preferable to sleeping in one bed with Malfoy, however wide that bed might be. Attached to the room, which served both as a bedroom and a drawing room with the two functional areas separated by an empty strip in the middle, were a bathroom and a separate toilet.

Harry ached to go on reconnaissance right away. The opportunity was there, as Dilato was apparently away from the mansion and Harry thought he would find his private rooms unoccupied. But there was the very real possibility that this had been set up with the intention to lure him into a trap. If it was, then it was entirely too obvious, he thought with dismay.

It was no question that they were under observation. Harry wished he knew exactly what kind of observation it was. For a brief moment, he considered casting a Revealing Charm. Then he remembered that if he did that, there was a chance that the Monitoring Spell would pick up his magical signature, despite him using a different wand. Perhaps they were counting on him doing exactly that. Harry didn't think his 'employers' were so naïve as to expect him to be completely clueless about his accommodations.

As a last-ditch attempt, he circled the room, looking around and pretending to get acquainted with the furniture and the decoration, while he tried to feel his way around. As an Auror, he was attuned to the most common spells used for observation, and there was a chance he would be able to pick up on a familiar magical signature. Unfortunately, the mansion, like all the other ones in its vicinity, was so full of obscure magic that there was no way for Harry to get a clear signal without strengthening and filtering it out with a spell.

"Oh! I always wanted to read this one!" Harry heard Malfoy crowing from the sitting area. Similarly to the place in the main hall, there was a well-stacked bookshelf set up with other commodities. A few seconds previously, he had been, just like Harry, inspecting the room; now he was standing in front of the bookshelf, browsing among the titles.

Harry's first reaction was annoyance. He wasn't really interested in any book Malfoy would be so ecstatic about, especially at a time like this, but he wasn't given a choice in the matter. Next he found himself being forcefully dragged onto the plush sofa with Malfoy sprawled in his lap of all places, and a book pushed in front of his face. Harry wanted to snap at him, but then he took a second to think: Malfoy was probably just as aware of their surroundings as he was. It was not likely that he would have forgotten why he was here in the first place. Thus, Harry stopped protesting and decided to try figure out what Malfoy wanted with that book.

His first impression was that it contained colourful pictures next to the text, but he couldn't really discern them until he pushed it back to a distance that was outside the focal point of his contacts. Then he felt all his blood flow into his face.

Just like Malfoy to spot a book like the Kama Sutra first thing when inspecting a strange bookshelf, and then force Harry to go through it with him, perched on his lap, ensuring that Harry couldn't possibly move even if he wanted to. Unfortunately, with the roles they were playing, he was well within his rights to do so. Harry gave in with a sigh and wiggled around a bit to get some of Malfoy's weight off his lap because, while Malfoy looked skinny, he was nowhere near a lightweight, and Harry's thighs were starting to go numb.

"Hm… do you think you could do this?" Harry left Malfoy's first question unheeded. He reckoned it was said for the sake of their roles but that didn't mean he had to obsess over those pictures as if they contained the secret of the universe. Cover or not, Malfoy was behaving like a third year who had just discovered Honeydukes, and Harry was starting to get the impression that he was enjoying himself way too much. He couldn't fathom what most people saw in that book: those positions were not new by any means, and while the pictures were certainly colourful, there was nothing more speaking for them. Some of them were not even anatomically correct.

A sharp elbow bored between his ribs.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, honey-buns!"

Ouch. That was one of the more offensive pet names in Malfoy's repertoire, which meant that he was serious about wanting Harry to pay attention. When he did, he understood why.

Malfoy's finger was resting on the page, but not on one of the pictures. Instead, he was tapping his index finger consecutively alternating between two parts of the text. When Harry looked closer, he discovered that he was indicating two words.

…_what… …now…_

Harry cursed himself for being so slow on the uptake sometimes. It's not like he wasn't familiar with this code; Hermione had showed it him once. He just hoped none of their observers was very knowledgeable in Muggle history. Now that he had caught on, it was only a matter of finding the right words on the page to establish a working communication between them.

…_we… …wait…_

He tapped the words while giving Malfoy some half-arsed answer about his butt hole being in a different place than the entry point depicted on the print, causing Malfoy to let slip a startled snicker. So their little coded question and answer game commenced.

…_look… …around… …?_

…_not… …now… …female… …expect…_

…_when…_

…_later… …need… …distract…_

It was somewhat inefficient and some answers needed to be repeated with a different set of words to be understandable, but in the end, it worked out better than expected. They were also able to keep up a light, witty give and take about the pictures in the book to mask the real exchange of words between them. They even managed to work out code words for things that they couldn't find direct reference to in a sexually themed book. Harry was amused when he managed to work out that Malfoy was using the word 'eunuch' for the octopus-faced fellows and 'lingam' as a reference to their missing host. He almost managed to make Harry forget the seriousness of their situation. That is, until Malfoy asked where, he thought, the 'big dark man' might be found.

Harry needed a few repetitions to fully understand whom Malfoy was referring to, as the book didn't contain a word even remotely similar to 'Shacklebolt'. He sobered abruptly. He gave an avoiding answer, something like needing to take a look around to know whether he was even there in the mansion or someplace different. He was grateful that their cumbersome method of communication wouldn't enable Malfoy to ask the difficult questions.

Malfoy closed the book with a slap but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to get up just yet. Instead he stretched like an overgrown cat in Harry's lap – and a very heavy one at that. Then he stood up without another word to put the book back in its place, the deliberate swagger in his steps unmistakable even to Harry.

"It's late. We should go to bed," he said in a low voice, not looking at Harry while making his way past him to the bathroom. Harry looked at his watch and saw that Malfoy was right. It was almost two in the morning.

Harry was already in his bed, dozing lightly, when Malfoy finished with washing his hands after having used the toilet. He was taken by surprise when he felt the sheets move and the mattress dip under the weight of another body crawling in with him.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, having forgotten their act for an instant, thus needing to make quick amends. "Not here," he stage-whispered.

"Afraid of peeping Toms?" Malfoy's tone sounded light and teasing on the surface, but Harry's ears picked up on a different kind of emotion underneath it. He wasn't able to identify it, though; relief or annoyance? He doubted he would ever be able to work out Malfoy's deeper motives, but he thought 'taking the shite out of him' would be a safe guess. "You aren't going to tell me you have a headache, right?"

The words froze on the tip of Harry's tongue because he was, in fact, just about to say the very same thing.

"When has a headache ever stopped me?" he scoffed, annoyed that he had been caught. "I just don't feel comfortable doing… things here." That was true enough; not that he would be comfortable 'doing things' with Malfoy at some place other, mind. There was a point where he had to draw the line in their pretence. He had learnt the lesson at his own cost. His biggest weakness was not being able to keep his work and personal life apart at times. It was better if he didn't get into situations where they were at a risk of getting mixed up. Things like that usually felt like nothing much at the time but more often than not turned out to have been grand mistakes later. Allowing things to get any further with Malfoy seemed very much like one of those stupid stunts of his.

"Spoilsport." A small, disappointed sigh came from Malfoy's direction. "You know, as much as I hate him, sometimes I wish you were the real thing. Potter never had any trouble with acting on his exhibitionistic tendencies."

Harry barely managed to stifle a shocked grunt. Malfoy once again managed to shift his perception of him; Harry just wished he knew in which direction. Before he could have come to a conclusion, he felt the mattress tilt again and Malfoy moving around, as he presumed, heading for his own bed. Thus, he was caught completely off guard when in the next second, he found himself pinned underneath his weight and on the receiving end of a passion-filled snog. Malfoy's hands slipped unabashedly under the thin fabric of his shirt; the touch of a warm palm on his waist kept Harry in his position, not by force, but with its mere presence.

Before long, Harry felt himself responding. The decision whether to throw Malfoy off or not was taken away from him by his own traitorous body. It had always been like that when it came to sex and relationships: his mind was confused and hesitant, but his body knew what it wanted and acted without his permission. Harry generally didn't mind. His hands and mouth usually got things figured out quicker than his head. He was used to giving a mental shrug and jumping headfirst into the flurry of sensations – and why should it be any different now?

There was a slight cessation in Malfoy's activities – he had probably expected him to resist more. Harry's first thought was that if he let Malfoy get away with this, then he wasn't going to just lie there passively and allow the other to do things to him. He wasn't some kind of damsel in distress between the sheets, even if he had allowed Malfoy to think that. It wasn't as though anyone could blame him for refusing to share intimate details of his private life with someone he barely had contact with beyond a superficial business relationship. Now it looked like the level of familiarity between them was about to change.

It gave Harry a small satisfaction to note that Malfoy was more than just a little taken aback when he suddenly found himself on his back with Harry weighing down on him. Later, when the quickly sparked passion had cleared out of his mind, he would also be tremendously amused by trying to imagine the shell-shocked expression on the narrow face. Right now, he was just riding the tide of passion Malfoy had ignited in him, and resolved to enjoy every damn minute of it. Right now, he couldn't care less if it was Malfoy underneath him whose erection was rubbing vigorously against his own and eliciting delicious sparkles behind his eyelids, or his occasional friend-with-benefits wearing a strap-on.

He rocked against the squirming creature underneath him. Malfoy wasn't trying to escape, he was squirming _against_ him, his movements generating heat and friction between them. He seemed to have completely surrendered to mindless passion, barely restrained groans of pleasure emitting from his throat. They shot through Harry like little electric currents and ended up pooling behind his navel, feeding a delicious pressure there until it got too much to contain.

Predictably, the little gymnastics ended with both of them coming in their pants within a very short time. Under different circumstances, Harry would have been embarrassed by his lack of endurance.

Coming down from his high was a sobering experience. Now, being in his right mind again, he was definitely not all right with what had happened. Remembering potential observers was enough to spoil the pleasant lethargy of his afterglow.

He rolled off Malfoy, uncomfortable with the cooling wetness in the front of his pants, but still needing a minute to himself until he would be able to stand up and cover the distance between his bed and the bathroom. However, there was nothing requiring that he needed to put up with Malfoy's presence in his bed any longer; Malfoy however didn't seem inclined to move. It looked like he was already halfway to la-la-land.

Harry's arm shot out, colliding with warm flesh under the cover. He flexed his muscles and shoved until he heard the satisfying thump on the floorboards.

"Ow! What the hell?!"

"I don't cherish the thought of waking up with your drool all over my shoulder again. You have a bed of your own, don't you?"

By the time he got back from his clean up, Malfoy was already coiled up under his own sheets, either too worn out or unwilling to make the trip to the bathroom.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"No, Castor is still not back," were the words Lucy greeted them with when they arrived.

They had been asked to have breakfast with her after having been woken up by a maid servant that morning. There were only the three of them, which was a disappointment on one hand; on the other, Harry was definitely grateful he didn't have to see Nash and his still nameless friend eating. "But he sent instructions." She turned to Harry. "He has an assignment for you."

Harry accepted the folded parchment from her hand and managed not to wince when he felt her fingers brush on his, and he was certain there had been nothing accidental about it. Malfoy noticed it, too, but all he did was giving them a sulking glare and turn back to his plate. Again, Harry couldn't tell how much of his resentment was playacting and how much of it was real. He was certain Malfoy was exaggerating his injuries and he hadn't fallen on his hipbone quite as hard as he would have liked Harry to believe. As expected, Lucy assumed that the limp had an entirely different cause. She didn't curb her amusement and had sent a leer when they entered the dining room. The unvoiced assumption only aggravated his 'boyfriend's' already less than sparkling mood.

Harry read the missive and then gave it to Malfoy. By an unspoken agreement, supported by Lucy's aimless chatter, they didn't speak about the assignment at the breakfast table. Once they were back in their room however, they were no more free to talk. Not that Malfoy had to spell out the matter to Harry. Harry only needed to put himself in his place: it seemed a waste of time. They ought to stay there and search for their target, not go on a stupid Ministry function and sniff around on the highest administrative level for evidence whether Castor Dilato's paid contact was secretly working on something he intended to keep for himself instead of sharing the profit…

Normally, Harry would have suggested that Malfoy use the time he was away, to search the mansion. However, when he had handed the assignment to Malfoy earlier, Lucy looked minutely annoyed, as if she hadn't expected it. There was something in that look that gave Harry a bad feeling when he thought of leaving Malfoy alone, so he decided against it, even though Malfoy's presence would make his task more difficult – a task that was more important to him than he let on.

He had been working for months to trace down the person inside the Ministry who was involved in illegal activities. Now he had finally stumbled upon a name, offered to him on a silver platter no less. Even better, he had been given the password needed to get into the man's spell-protected safe in his private office within the Ministry.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"Would you please explain to me in plain English what we are doing in your girlfriend's flat?" Malfoy asked, his eyes moving suspiciously between Ginny and Mad-Eye Moody. The latter was sitting in the living room and, to all appearances, initiating intimate acquaintance with the telly's remote control. He had just arrived there to assume his role as Harry Potter for the night, but now it seemed his services wouldn't be needed.

Apparently, the old members of the Order were taking turns playing substitute for him since the previous day. He had been called in after the Hit Wizards had turned up empty-handed and given their reports to Robards because they had thought it had been he who had sent them after the doppelganger. Apparently, Robards had decided that for Harry's own safety, he needed to be kept in the office in plain view. Harry wondered whether he had noticed the switch up. Whether he had or had not, he wasn't ignorant enough to order a Polyjuice-test.

"You mean you actually want to go to one of these functions with me?" Ginny asked, taken aback. Harry couldn't really fault her; he had never been very fond of public appearances, especially since there was no way to predict how the media would interpret his actions in the next day's issue.

"I'm practically ordered to appear tonight, if I understand correctly." Harry didn't bother to answer Ginny's previous question. She nodded. "Then it won't be conspicuous that I'm there."

Ginny gave him a beaming smile in return – which Harry knew would disappear very soon. He didn't see a point in stalling. Better get over the inconvenient part before she started donning her make up, he decided.

"Sorry, Ginny, but I won't be going with you. I'm going with Malfoy."

She blinked at him, then the aforementioned person in surprise.

"Erm… not that I'm prejudiced, you know me, Harry, but wouldn't that be a little…" She stopped when she heard Malfoy's amused snort coming from the entrance hall which he had refused to leave ever since Harry had yanked him over the doorstep. Harry needed a few seconds to work out the misunderstanding and hurried to correct it.

"No, I meant that I'm going with Malfoy but he is… going as you."

"Oh! That's not fair!" There it was what Harry had feared: the indignant outburst.

"We have a job to do. It's important," he said in lieu of an apology, hoping that Ginny would understand. After all, she was an Auror like Harry.

"So he is going to take my place tonight." She nodded towards Malfoy. "And what am I to do during that time?" she asked. Harry was going to suggest that she stay home and watch 'Conspiracy Theory' on the telly with Moody. The old man needed some entertainment now and then. However, his good intentions were stomped on by the sudden flash of a Plan in Ginny's eyes.

"I know! If Malfoy is going to be me, then I'm going to be Malfoy."

"I'm afraid I don't…" the person in question started but was abruptly silenced by the no-nonsense glare of two too-brightly gleaming eyes.

"If you're in my skin, then I can use the opportunity to slip into yours and do a little bit of reconnaissance in Knockturn Alley," she said with a tone that suggested she wasn't to be deterred by anything.

"Ginny, I don't think that's such a good idea. Just how much Polyjuice Potion do we have on hand, anyhow?" Harry tried to plead with her.

"Just about enough for three hours. Malfoy can take all of it. I'll use Glamours."

"I thought you said there were detectors in the Ministry," Malfoy said, frowning. Ginny answered his question with her usual professionalism when it came to spells.

"Polyjuice can only be detected by a direct skin sample and the general Ward Charms they have up in the common areas won't notice it. On the other hand, they would detect a Glamour Charm. So that spell wouldn't be safe for you to use, even if either of you were capable of learning it within..." She looked at her watch. "…the next half hour."

"And what about you?" Harry asked, starting to become somewhat frantic.

"Don't worry about me," she said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I was best in class when it came to concealment techniques. I'll whip up a good likeness to Malfoy in no time."

Harry had to admit she was right; even if her class technically only contained one other person: Harry, who managed the Disillusionment Charm on the first try but had trouble with assuming different appearances. He had never been overly bothered by that particular failure. He reckoned he had been sneaking around for so long that different means of going unnoticed just didn't seem to come to him that naturally.

"Weasley! I refuse to allow you to discredit me, which would indubitably happen the moment you're let loose in Knockturn Alley. Just… no!" came Malfoy's strangled objection. Harry noticed that the subject had finally managed to draw him out of his 'hiding place'.

"It's a fair trade, Malfoy," Ginny said with a hard smile on her face. "You're going to be me – I'm going to be you. Don't worry, I promise not to do anything I wouldn't do if I were myself."

"That somehow doesn't reassure me," Malfoy muttered. He looked a little lost, while his eyes followed Ginny running around her flat in erratic patterns, like an excited worker bee trying to describe the way to a promising field of wildflowers – on another spiral arm of the Milky Way.

"If you can't take it without worrying, then worry about the fact that I promised Hermione that I'd be wearing my green dress this evening – you know, Harry." She turned to him and winked. "The one that complements your eyes so well."

"Shite." The word was out of Harry's mouth before his mind could have overridden his reaction.

"What?" Malfoy asked reluctantly as if he'd have rather preferred not to know.

"Uhm… nothing," Harry said, trying to chase an unbidden image out of his mind. "It's just a bit…" Short. "It might not fit well," he muttered quickly.

"Oh."

"Come on, Malfoy!" Ginny called from the bathroom, waving the moss-green fabric like a flag. "You put this on _before_ you turn into me."

"Potter says it's not going to fit…" Malfoy said, strangely subdued, but he was already on his way.

"It'll have to," Ginny snarled, though Harry didn't think there was much real resentment in her tone. She was too excited by the prospect of a sightseeing tour in Knockturn Alley. "I won't have you ogling my body."

Malfoy actually laughed at that, snatching the cloth out of her hands, and then banged the door firmly closed behind him with a last call of, "As if I'd be interested in any way, woman!"

Harry had to stifle a snort, seeing the disappointed expression on Ginny's face when she realised what Malfoy had meant by it. He must not have succeeded entirely because she turned to him and gave him a confused glare. She looked like a kid who had just been told that the Easter Bunny wasn't real.

"Did you know?" she asked, managing to sound accusing.

Harry just shrugged without a word, then he stood uncomprehending in the face of her inscrutable stare. What did it matter? Malfoy was too scrawny to be her type.

Not five minutes later, Malfoy came back from the bathroom in full regalia – except shoes – and Harry found his prediction being proven false. Malfoy's measurements seemed fairly similar to Ginny's, presumably owning to the fact that she was tall for a woman and her shoulders were wider from working out regularly. She still played Chaser for an amateur Quidditch team on Sundays. Malfoy was a little taller, though, which caused the already too short dress to reveal more of the creamy skin of Malfoy's surprisingly smooth thighs than necessary. He must not have felt comfortable with it either, because he snatched his robe in front of him when he noticed Harry staring.

Ginny chose the same instant to come out of the bedroom, having changed into dark robes that would help conceal the part of her body that couldn't be changed by Glamours. She had already cast the illusion charms; Harry did a double take when he suddenly saw two Malfoys standing side by side.

"Here, I have already mixed a lock of my hair into it." She pushed a small, golden purse, which contained the bottle of Polyjuice Potion into Malfoy's hand. Malfoy disappeared into the bathroom anew, and she turned to Harry and stepped in front of him, executing a full turn.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked, obviously proud of her spellwork.

Harry nodded thoughtfully and tried to categorise the small details. The bodily differences between Malfoy and her were now presumably covered up by high heels and some padding. Now she also sported Malfoy's sharp cheekbones and chin; the angle of the eyebrows was different and they were thicker; the nose straighter and narrower; her hair pale yellow, shorter and standing up in spikes, the way Malfoy was wearing his nowadays – down to the dark roots he had allegedly achieved with a Hair-Dye Potion of his own creation.

"Not bad. You made a mistake with the eyes, though."

"Really?" she asked, looking for the nearest reflecting surface. She found a mirror, which she tilted left and right to check the charms over her face, frowning. "I don't think so. More slanted, perhaps?"

"You got the colour wrong," Harry pointed out a little reluctantly. He didn't like to argue with her when she was in one of her weird moods, like now.

"I did not! They're just the right shade of blue, I tell you." Then she struck a pose reminiscent of Lavender Brown, Romilda Vane or possibly Scarlet O'Hara, and launched into a dreamy monologue. "…azure orbs cut out of the skies just before the storm breaks; the colour of pure white clouds reflecting from a sapphire tsunami…" But soon, she snorted and broke out in unapologetic giggles, seeing the long-suffering expression on Harry's face.

"…not blue…" Harry dared to interject, swearing to himself that this would be the last of his contributions for the night, but for some reason, he just couldn't leave it without comment.

"Oh, come on, Harry, what would you know?" _More than enough_, a traitorous voice in the back of Harry's mind answered. "I was the one with the perfect surveillance scores. If I remember right, you couldn't discern a curse rash from a pimple." And God forbid Ginny ever let him live that down!

She looked at him expectantly, as if she were waiting for Harry to acknowledge that he was wrong. She didn't get an answer from him, but in that moment, Malfoy showed up again, sans concealing robe, apparently having used the last couple of minutes to drink his first dose and check over his appearance. Harry was surprised that he had even taken the time to apply some subtle make up to his eyes and lips, obviously taken from Ginny's stock.

"In this case it appears that Potter is right for a change," he said in a voice that was both Ginny's and not at the same time: same vocal range, different cadence. "They're grey."

Definitely… odd.

Malfoy, already perfectly attuned to his role – a little too perfectly, if Harry was asked, but he wasn't – linked his arm with Harry's elbow and made a point of smoothing down some imaginary creases on his ever-green dress robes. Then he turned back to Ginny and gave her a decidedly impish wink, which caused Ginny to grace them with her inscrutable stare again. Harry blinked, mystified by the interaction that was going on over his head.

"We're going," he stated categorically and gave Malfoy a tug in the direction of the door. The last thing he heard was a gruff warning coming from the living room.

"Don't forget, Potter: Constant Vigilance! Watch your back and keep an eye out for that assassin!"

**\\(****TOT)//**

Harry had expected to be more nervous about entering the Ministry with Malfoy on his arm – even if Malfoy happened to look like his co-worker, whom people were used to seeing on his side. The truth was that he had already suffered through so many of these functions that the only feelings he was able to dredge up for having to be there were boredom and loathing. Especially during the first half hour, when all they were permitted to do was to stay there in the middle of a crowd and pretend to be interested in the speeches that were being delivered. Afterwards, Harry couldn't have said who had spoken up there at the podium and what they had been on about.

Instead, he amused himself with watching Malfoy trying to role-play Ginny. Of course, he would have to actually know her to be successful in his attempt. Harry found himself having to smother a grin now and then after some of his more oblivious blunders. Fortunately, people who he was talking to – people who did know Ginny and should have suspected something – all assumed that she was just somewhat tipsy, and Malfoy's habitual drawl seeping through Ginny's voice only reinforced that false impression.

"Don't overdo it," Harry whispered into Malfoy's ear close to the end of the never-ending speeches.

"Potter, you're not appreciating my efforts to give us a reason to quickly disappear from here," came the sultry voice, followed by Ginny's lips twisting into a pout that was so alien to her that Harry couldn't refrain from surreptitiously looking around to check whether someone had noticed. But he saw the logic in Malfoy's plan.

"She's going to kill me," he muttered under his breath. He was glad Ron was not that big on these events or he would be in real trouble now.

The plan worked – a little too well, as the first person they stumbled into sneered and suggested they 'get a room'. It had been Percy, so perhaps it just offended his sensibilities that anyone dared to put up such a display in his sanctified Ministry. Malfoy pretended to take the advice at face value and used it as an excuse to haul Harry out through the nearest door.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"Bloody hell! Do you even have an idea where we're heading?" Malfoy hissed, irritated, after twenty minutes of having been dragged through the Ministry on a route that seemed to resemble a grand tour, if they ever considered setting up one.

"Quiet," Harry breathed and looked back above his shoulder covertly. Still there.

On an impulse, he reversed Malfoy's hold on his wrist and pushed him between two neighbouring pillars in the short aisle they were walking by, until he was sure they were at least partially tucked into the shadows. At first, the body squeezed between the wall and his front stiffened in indecision, but never let it be said about Malfoy that he was slow on the uptake. Harry almost didn't need to voice the explanation for his sudden actions.

"We are being followed."

"And your first thought was that it's some perv wanting to catch us getting it on in a public place?" Malfoy asked, sounding dubious, but he already had his arms wrapped around Harry's neck.

"Either it is and they'll go away once they got what they came here for, or it's not and then they'll leave as soon as they realise…"

"Ooh," Malfoy cooed into his ear and shifted closer. "You planning on doing naughty things to me, Mr Potter?" he asked in a voice both breathless and loud enough that the question would be audible even from a distance. Then he continued in a whisper. "You're a quick study; I'm impressed."

Harry shook off the annoying surge of embarrassment when he realised what he was talking about. This was not the time for introspection. And the fact that their observer hadn't budged from his place rather proved that he was the sort Malfoy was calling a 'perv'. Either that, or some security wizard really dedicated to his job. Which meant that, as much as Harry had hoped it wouldn't come to that, now they had to continue with the act.

That was when he found himself out of ideas as to how to proceed. This had never been part of his Auror training, for one. He only realised that he had been standing more of less frozen to the spot when Malfoy's furious hiss reached his ear.

"Watch your hands, Potter!"

"What?"

"You're supposed to put them on my arse or my tits, not just let them hang down. And bloody well do it like you mean it!"

So he did - and damned if Malfoy talking about his _breasts_ didn't put a dent in his sense of reality. But it was still weird – hearing Malfoy's voice out of Ginny's mouth and feeling his muscles go tense between him and the wall when, in the same situation, Ginny's body always went slack with the need to be taken care of. Though Malfoy was probably just reacting to the stress, not any kind of misplaced arousal; Harry's mind latched onto that thought and used it to guide him through his confusion. He forced himself to see them through his mental eyes from an outsider's view, trying to analyse the picture they most likely presented. He came to the realisation that their observer – if he was there for the fun – would be getting impatient by now at the lack of action.

Malfoy gave out a little surprised noise when Harry leaned in and caught his lips with his own, but he seemed to have no problems getting into his role. Not that he had ever had before, Harry mused, a bit distracted. The kiss was deep, a technically perfect rendition of a passion-fuelled encounter. Harry felt Malfoy's tongue caressing his own, his fingers grabbing the hair on his nape, a subtle shift of his hips… and his mind supplied him with a running set of commands of how he should react, where to put his own hands and when to take the control back from Malfoy. He tasted like Ginny. Had the shape of Ginny. He had none of her softness – there was nothing pliant in his body, nor in the way he moved and responded to Harry's actions.

Malfoy broke the kiss with the excuse of having to draw in air, pulling Harry's head into the curve of his neck and shoulder. Harry delivered a trail of kisses up on his throat, until he reached Malfoy's ear and took it between his teeth, signalling with a bite that he had understood Malfoy's intention.

"He is still there," Malfoy breathed into his ear. Harry had been able to feel the sharp gaze on his back, had been conscious of it while mentally designing his act, but it felt good to get a confirmation from Malfoy.

"What now?" he asked. "Should we break it off and come back later?" He knew what he would have chosen, had the situation been reversed, but there was a little voice in his mind, whispering that he could not force Malfoy to do this; especially not when he was trapped in someone else's body whose reactions he might feel weird about later. There was a reason why sex wasn't done while Polyjuiced, even if the gender of the person didn't change. The 'might feel weird'-part varied from mild discomfort to total dementia and the mind healing itself by getting rid of the uncomfortable memories more surely and irrevocably than an Obliviate.

Perhaps, Harry thought, he would have a better chance for success if he left Malfoy at Ginny's and came back on his own; he knew the layout of the building and it would be easier for him to hide in plain view if…

"The hell am I going to come back again!" Malfoy hissed. "We're doing this now." Harry could feel the twitch that indicated that he was feeling less confident about the idea than his tone suggested, but he decided not to question it. Unfortunately, when Malfoy was feeling out of sorts, he always resorted to either anger or virtually transferring his discomfort on another person by being insufferable. Merlin knew, Harry didn't like to be on the receiving end of either.

He jumped a bit when, out of the blue, Malfoy's hand slipped southwards and grabbed something Harry was rather attached to. Their predicament, though, didn't allow him much of a leeway.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he hissed. The bite on Malfoy's ear was meant as a warning; Malfoy, though, must have chosen a different way to interpret it, because he didn't remove his hand.

"You don't seem to be up to the task," was the teasing answer.

Harry fought really hard against the twitch in his fingers that would have liked to curl around that delicate throat and just… squeeze. Instead, he reached down and grabbed Malfoy's wrist in an iron hold, lifting it and pressing it to the wall above his head. After a half second of contemplation, he repeated the move with the other arm, restraining them both in one hand.

"Oooh, kinky," Malfoy cooed somewhat louder, and Harry realised that he had already slipped back into his role. That reminder was enough to get his act back together.

He leaned back down into the curve of Malfoy's throat. His other hand reached around the unusually slim waist – well, unusually slim for Malfoy – and pulled hard.

"Get your legs around my hips," he commanded, and then he was busy moulding his groan into a sign of ardour – rather than the evidence of the sudden sharp pain shooting into his back. He could tell Malfoy was really into his role, because he started wiggling, as if in the throes of passion, and Harry had a hard time keeping his balance until he managed to find a rhythm of his own that counteracted it. But then Malfoy really started to writhe, and Harry was suddenly mortified by the thought that the other was getting off on it… until he heard the low, sort of pained hiss next to his ear.

"Fuck!"

"What's wrong?" Harry was instantly alert.

"The potion! I'm going to turn back within seconds," Malfoy whispered urgently.

Harry realised that in the situation they were in, there would be no good enough excuse for digging out the bottle with the Polyjuice Potion. It would only serve to give them away.

This really was not the time to panic; years' worth of experience gained in sticky situations helped him to keep a cool head. He only just managed to rearrange their positions in order to shield Malfoy's face from their observer when the transformation began, hoping the shadows around them would be enough to hide the rest.

Malfoy's trembling turned into wild undulations, and Harry was familiar enough with Polyjuice to know that it would be only a matter of seconds until it got worse while the back-transformation occurred. The convulsions started in that second. Harry did his best to match their erratic rhythm, both to keep up the pretence and to maintain their balance. When he thought it was just about finished, he firmed his muscles and pushed Malfoy firmly against the wall, knowing fully well how it was going to look from afar.

The transformation had only lasted five seconds or so, but still left Malfoy's body shuddering with exhaustion. He was panting into Harry's ear, his forehead supported by Harry's shoulder. "Good thinking, Potter," were his first words, making Harry shiver when cold air hit the sweat-dampened skin under his ear.

"You can let me down. He isn't there anymore," Malfoy told him.

Harry let out a relieved sigh, flexing strained muscles and preparing to lower him gradually. He adjusted his grip and abruptly froze on the spot when the sensation on his palm registered in his mind. The short, tight dress had slid up when Malfoy had put his legs around his waist; Harry's fingers were pressing into bare skin. That was when Harry realised two more things. One: Malfoy wasn't wearing any underwear; two: he was hard and the evidence was pressed into Harry's belly. There was an answering stirring in his groin.

Shocked, he dumped Malfoy on the floor. There was a moment when he tried to contemplate what sort of reaction he should have, but his mind evidently wasn't capable of processing such abrupt changes. Finally, he just began to snicker helplessly because Malfoy really looked sort of stupid: dishevelled, his erection tenting the front of Ginny's green dress and his long, bare limbs in a haphazard jumble on the floor. After helping him up and discreetly looking the other way while Malfoy righted his clothing, it was still the only response that his mind was capable of providing. He thought it was still better than making a big deal out of it.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"Are you just about done now, Potter?" Malfoy asked for the fifth time, stomping down the corridor – and somehow managing to do it without making any noise – toward the administrative staff offices. Unfortunately for Malfoy, the change caused by Polyjuice put too much of a strain on one's body to be advisable taking it two consecutive times if the back-transformation wasn't prevented by another dose. That meant he was stuck in the dress in his own form, and Harry was provided with an unexpected source of amusement.

He hadn't been lying; the dress was somewhat on the short side. It didn't help that, while Malfoy wasn't much taller than Ginny, his legs were definitely longer, so the skirt-part of it revealed more of them than when he was in her body. Now, while Malfoy was prissy like hell and every move he made was saturated with over-bred aristocratic pretentiousness, the one thing he was not was 'feminine'. His legs, sticking out of the shortish skirt looked like every other regular bloke's: angular in all the places a woman had nice curves; his knees sort of knobbly; and let's not forget leg hair. No wonder Harry found himself involuntarily grinning from ear to ear on several occasions.

"Merlin, Potter, if I didn't know better, I'd think you're ogling my arse. I swear you're more of a pervert than that ginger-haired secretary."

That comment made Harry's good humour disappear faster than a dropped Sickle under a sewer grate.

"Percy?" he asked with shock, not even aware that he had said it out loud until Malfoy answered.

"Who else? He must have followed us from the moment we left the ballroom. Ah, that's the right door: Renfield."

Malfoy stopped in front of their destination. Good that he did because, his mind still reeling from the revelation, Harry hadn't exactly been paying attention to their progress and would have walked past it without noticing.

He grabbed Malfoy's wrist before he could touch the handle and pulled him back from the door. After the first second's confusion, Malfoy followed his lead without a word, observing attentively as Harry used his wand to disable the security spells on the office. Once inside, he put them back in order again.

Malfoy had his wand out but he was standing unmoving in the middle of the room, clearly waiting for Harry to give him directions. Harry wondered why he felt more relieved than annoyed by the knowledge that Malfoy seemed to be out of his element during a break and enter operation. Perhaps because needing help wasn't the reason why he brought Malfoy along. He waved his wand around the office, making sure that there would be no other nasty surprises waiting for them – it _was_ useful to have old Mad-Eye for a mentor.

"You look in the desk drawers and I am going to open the safe," he told Malfoy when he was done with the last sweep. Malfoy set to work, again, without question.

Opening the safe was just a saying; no one really expected to find a real safe in any kind of wizard residence, except perhaps if the wizard was Muggle-born and too used to living among non-magical folk. It was hard work with fine-tuned searching spells to find an indication of where and how a wizard chose to hide his possessions he feared for. Harry was good at finding them – thanks to a mix of longstanding practice and intuition. Ever since he could remember, it just felt natural for him to stumble upon things – except when he was trying too hard, concentrating on why he had to find something instead of paying attention to the clues.

While it was true that his subconscious observational skills weren't the best, especially reading people, he was well capable of extracting information from his environment if he consciously paid attention to what he was doing. It had been no coincidence that he had made the Quidditch team his first year but had struggled with Potions. The subject just could not hold his attention. Harry blamed his lack of interest on bad memories about standing next to the sizzling pan in his aunt's kitchen when he couldn't blame it on Snape's double standards.

There… A slight discrepancy in the magical texture of a self-ordering filing cabinet alerted him to a possible hidden pouch of wizard space behind one of the drawers. With the password he had been given, it was a matter of minutes before he managed to crack the concealing spells and wards. From the residual magical signatures around the shelf, he noticed that not all of the protections were up, and the ones that were, had been put back sloppily, as if the caster had been in a hurry.

The hidden space only contained a stack of parchments, but the fact that their owner bothered to put a protection on them in addition to keeping them in an already hidden and protected location was enough for him not to question its value. Thus, he pocketed the bundle and began to reproduce the original state of things.

When he was done, he turned around and found Malfoy standing over the disorganized desk, leafing through a folder with great interest.

"Found something?" he asked.

Malfoy pulled loose a sheet and then snapped the folder closed, placing it back where he found it. He started looking for a pocket for the parchment; not surprisingly, he didn't find any on the dress. So he folded it several times, until it started resembling an improvised padding to balance furniture with, and stuffed it into his purse with the Polyjuice Potion.

"Possibly," he answered belatedly to Harry's question. "Are we done now?"

Harry grunted an affirmative and re-opened the wards on the door.

Sneaking out proved almost harder than getting in had been. The function was still in full swing and Harry didn't want to risk the chance of Malfoy being seen by anyone in his current state. Malfoy offered to turn into Ginny again, but Harry knew better than to accept.

"I'd rather not have to carry you out on my shoulder," he warned. Malfoy seemed to understand his reasoning without having to explain: an unconscious girl would be more conspicuous than Malfoy in his current state of dress; they just had to keep to the shadows. So they did. Harry still needed to do some quick thinking and use a couple of Confundus Charms on two stray guests and the security wizard in the Atrium. From there, they Apparated right into the middle of Knockturn Alley.

At Knockturn, they had to make a quick run for it. The noise of Apparition alerted a couple of thugs to their presence. Malfoy's appearance wasn't exactly out of place there, but it was associated with a specific profession. Those men probably thought Malfoy was one of those young Squibs purchased from their families to be sold on the streets, and that he was now on the flight from his captors with his lover. They probably figured they'd get a free round from his owner if they managed to catch them.

There was no question whether to make a run for it or to stay and fight: there were too many of them and the sounds of a tussle would have only alerted more. Malfoy didn't need to be told to hurry up. Living where he did, he'd have met more of the unfortunate victims than Harry had on his patrols. In all likelihood, he knew exactly what kind of treatment to expect if they got caught.

Their steps clattered loudly on the slightly damp cobblestones. The noise of running steps behind their back indicated that their pursuers were rapidly closing in on them. It must have rained earlier; the street under their shoes was slippery with moisture, making running a precarious matter, especially for Malfoy, who was wearing a pair of Ginny's high-heeled shoes. Harry had half a mind to tell him to get rid of the bloody stilettos and they'd deal with the cuts later – except that the pavement was littered with shards of potion bottles; Merlin only knew what poisonous substances had been kept in them once upon a time.

Harry cut down on his speed more until Malfoy caught up with him, then grabbed his wrist, pulling him along. They weren't running fast enough to cause Malfoy to stumble, but his wheezing was almost louder than the rapid clack of their steps on the pavement. A sudden, sharp tug on his arm prompted Harry to turn back. Malfoy managed to stay on his feet, though, so Harry didn't slow down much, only enough to let Malfoy catch up with him.

"You all right?" Harry asked.

Their destination was only a few yards away; Harry really hoped that they wouldn't find the gates closed. Now they were running shoulder to shoulder, which enabled Harry to let go of Malfoy's arm, but Malfoy almost immediately caught his hand, most likely needing the support to keep up his speed and balance. Harry allowed it and held on fast.

They rounded the last turn in the crooked alley and spotted a hooded figure standing in the back entry of the mansion, smoking. That detail identified him as Nash's squid friend. Harry changed their direction, turning away from the front gate, and heading in his way without hesitation.

The figure jumped out of their way with an indignant yelp when he realised they weren't slowing down. With his last bout of speed, Harry pulled Malfoy over the threshold and kicked the door closed behind them with a resounding thump.

"What the hell?" came the muttered swearing from the side.

Harry was too busy panting and trying to keep himself from falling onto his knees to pay attention to the exclamation. That was already hard enough to do, with all those distracting black spots dancing in front of his eyes, he really didn't need the added weight of Malfoy collapsing on him.

"We… could've… Apparated," Malfoy wheezed into Harry's shoulder. Harry silently agreed with him but that didn't mean he was about to tell him that.

The kiss caught him off guard and Malfoy took full advantage of his partly open mouth. His mind, drenched in adrenaline, Harry found himself responding to the stimulus, his tongue automatically moving into the battle for dominance – who cared about breathing, anyhow – and his arms curling around a slender, silk-clad body pressed to his own. Soon, he was panting for an entirely different reason.

It took his mind several seconds to catalogue what was going on. He was squeezed between Malfoy and the nearest wall, the alignment of their bodies a reverse of that in the Ministry, but otherwise very similar – down to the presence of a spectator. Except that this time, the spectator was witnessing this against his will and despite its presence, Malfoy seemed eager to continue from where they had left off.

Harry's hands were already on Malfoy's shoulders; he squeezed and thrust forward, hard. Malfoy ended up stumbling backwards and landing on his indecently clad arse with an expression of utter disbelief etched into his features.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Harry hissed, discomfort and being short of breath making his tone sound harsher than he had intended it to.

Malfoy's bewilderment didn't last long; when it was gone, it gave way to fury. Harry could see where this was leading and didn't think they should have that discussion with an outsider present. He turned on his heel and started walking towards their room at a deliberately controlled pace, vaguely aware of the noises Malfoy was making while he pushed himself off the floor and followed in his wake.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Malfoy seemed to have regained his control by the time they were back behind locked doors. His expression was closed off and, on the surface, nonchalant, but Harry could see sparks of barely contained anger dancing in his eyes. He frowned, not really understanding what reason Malfoy had to be angry with him; it should be the other way round.

A flick of a wand and Harry found himself standing inside a Privacy Bubble together with Malfoy. He didn't think it was a good idea to alert their hosts that they had something to discuss in secret. Harry hoped that if they were being observed, it would just look like they were having a lovers' tiff they'd prefer to keep private…

"What's your problem, Harry? Am I not good enough for you?" Malfoy asked.

…If not for the fact that he had to participate in this conversation, it would have amused him that the impression they were most likely giving wasn't that far off the truth.

Malfoy's question gave him something to think about. He was startled to discover that he couldn't decide between a simple yes or a no, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. He decided to shelve the question for later, and for now concentrate on the real issue.

"It's not about being or not being good enough," was the reply he finally settled on.

Malfoy seemed momentarily startled; then the expression gave way to a deprecating grin which Harry didn't like being directed at him.

"Oh, don't I know?" Malfoy asked breezily. "You fancy yourself straight. But you know what's interesting? In the Ministry, when I was in your girlfriend's skin, you didn't seem to be enjoying yourself enough to fake a decent snog. And then after that…" Malfoy's voice trailed off. Harry was mortified by the realisation that Malfoy had felt _that_; that shouldn't have happened.

"Would you have enjoyed it more if you had posed as Weasley and I had been pretending to be you, I wonder."

Against his will, Harry found himself snorting; the idea seemed too absurd to take it even remotely seriously. "You don't even like red-heads as far as I'm aware." Then he sobered instantly. "This is a job. It has nothing to do with enjoying myself."

"Didn't seem like that to me last night," Malfoy countered almost instantly with a smirk. Harry wanted to tell him that last night had been a mistake, but that would have meant admitting to Malfoy that he had succeeded in making Harry break his own rule, and what was to say he wouldn't try it again? Actually, it rather looked like he was doing just that right now.

Malfoy stepped closer, his voice turning seductive, and lifted one of his index fingers to draw a line down Harry's throat, then continued along his shirt buttons, finally coming to a halt above his crotch. "And as to not liking red heads… I beg to differ. Though it is true that I also like them in pink or purple…"

Harry's face instantly heated up, both as a result of catching on to the meaning behind Malfoy's words, and because Malfoy was touching him so lightly he barely could feel the pressure through layers of clothes. He might have muttered something about informing Tonks just to alleviate his discomfort, which Malfoy rewarded with a mock-affectionate pat on his cheek – it only registered in Harry's mind because he had taken away his finger to do that.

"I have this theory about you… how about we test it now?" The amusement in Malfoy's eyes transformed into something Harry couldn't read very well – something hard, sparkling and sharp as broken glass. Determination? In the next moment, the invisible laces on the green dress were loosened and the cloth dropped to the floor, pooling around slender ankles. Once out of the ungainly dress, there was nothing ridiculous about Malfoy, Harry noted with a catch in his breath.

The first thing that jumped into Harry's mind was that Malfoy hadn't been wearing any underwear, followed unbidden by the memory of the feeling of those buttocks moulding into his palms: warm, silky and inviting.

Malfoy stepped out of the circle of fabric gracefully, bringing himself almost nose to nose with Harry. Harry was frozen to the spot, unable to stop staring. In the next instant, he was startled out of his reverie by the delicate touch of Malfoy's palm on the front of his trousers. The tingling warmth seeping through the fabric made him instantly aware of the abrupt changes that had occurred in his body since Malfoy had so casually shed his clothing. The lips in front of his face curved into a teasing smile.

"Stop me while you still can, because I fully intend to find out tonight what colour _yours_ is," came the husky whisper, the last word accentuated by a deliberate, slow brush of his thumb against the head of Harry's straining erection. Harry had to close his eyes against the sudden surge of desire that followed.

His heartbeat was thundering through his whole body. Searing heat pooled under Malfoy's too light touch, and was doing its best to burn away the last of his will to resist. Suddenly he had trouble remembering why it was so important to hold on to it. Malfoy's fingers tightened around his awakened erection, and the resulting jolt of sensation was like an explosion in his mind, sweeping away the last remains of his reservations.

"Screw it!" Harry growled low.

He grabbed Malfoy's wrist and yanked away the tormenting hand. His other arm coiled around Malfoy's waist – all that glorious expanse of bare skin – dragging him forward. Malfoy followed his lead readily, moulding his body to Harry's from their knees to their shoulders until not an atom of air remained between them, a victorious smirk still firmly in place on his lips.

In the next instant, Harry was attacking those mocking lips, satisfied with the instant participation he received. Malfoy's tongue and teeth fought his own every step on the way, demanding more and more. It was fundamentally different from the kisses he had shared with Ginny. God, Ginny had never kissed him like that. _He_ hadn't kissed _her_ like that… he was going to say 'in a very long time' but actually, it was 'ever'.

Malfoy was panting when they finally parted, but he still had this smug little smile in the corner of his mouth. "Still not gay, Harry?" he asked.

This time, though, Harry didn't feel offended by it, merely tempted to turn Malfoy's little mind game against him. The sudden release of his crumbling control was making him light-headed and perhaps a bit reckless. He was fully aware how dangerous it was to succumb to his baser desires in a situation like this, but he was past caring. Right now, his attention was focussed solely on one thing, and that was Malfoy who had so skilfully divested him of that control.

"Mmm… No, can't say I am."

"What?" As Harry had expected, Malfoy's eyes went wide with indignation. "I can't believe that after all this you still think you're straight!" He tried to jerk free from Harry's embrace, but Harry was ready to prevent it.

"Straight? Now, I don't think I've ever said anything to that effect either," he countered, his tone amused. "I'll never understand this obsession with labels: pure-blood, Mudblood, Gryffindor, Slytherin, gay, straight…" There was a pause as the remark caused long forgotten memories to surface. "...It's not the labels other people stick on you that determine who you are but your own choices..." Harry grimaced at the ill-timed seriousness having unwittingly seeped into his voice, then shrugged, his lips curving into a half-smile. "Or so someone told me once... something similar, at any rate."

Malfoy looked momentarily pole-axed, mouth falling open in astonishment. In the next instant, though, he seemed fully recovered.

"Does that mean you won't bottom?" he asked, mock-scoffing.

Harry laughed. His laughter died in his throat when, in the next moment, Malfoy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with renewed fervour and shook him hard. Harry stumbled back and hit his hip on an inconsiderately placed drawer. The grimace of pain must have been enough to alleviate Malfoy's frustration, because then he let go of him and started attacking his shirt buttons.

"You're overdressed, Potter," he growled, an indication that he was irritated with him but that irritation apparently wouldn't prevent him from dragging Harry into his bed tonight. Harry approved of it wholeheartedly.

_**TTT**__CENSORED__**TTT**_

**\\(****TOT)//**

The next morning, Harry woke up with a numb shoulder and pinpricks in his left arm. He needed a couple of minutes to unravel the mix of sensations to decide whether the overall effect was rather nice or uncomfortable. His stomach itched and felt sticky, his back muscles were stiff, and different parts of his body were alternately either too hot or too cold. His left ear tickled from being subjected to periodic gusts of air, which, Harry realised, was someone's breathing. That was the moment he woke up enough to remember what had happened the previous night. With Malfoy.

His muscles stiffened for a couple of heartbeats as an instinctive reaction while he contemplated what would be the most sensible thing to do. It was way past the time when he should have disentangled himself, dressed and left. Or at least to gone to spend the rest of the night in his own bed. Now if he moved, he would wake up Malfoy who was currently using his shoulder as a pillow, and he wasn't about to subject himself to that before he decided on a course of action.

"How the hell did this happen in the first place?" he found himself muttering under his breath... only to discover that Malfoy wasn't as asleep as he had assumed. The weight on his shoulder lessened as the other hoisted himself up on one elbow and gave him a scathing glare.

"That's the stupidest question I've ever heard," he said, his gaze unblinking and intense. The earnestness of the proclamation was somewhat ruined by the less than imposing effect of pillow creases lining his face, which Harry couldn't fathom how he had collected, seeing as he had not been sleeping on a pillow.

Malfoy didn't move and Harry was unable to look away. He saw the glare slowly even out, Malfoy's facial muscles relaxing into a more neutral expression, but his eyes remained locked with Harry's. From this close, he could see his own reflection within the grey depths. A sudden lurch of an unexpected emotion hammered through his chest and flushed all the stupid excuses out of his mind.

Malfoy began to look uncomfortable with the growing suspense, since neither of them seemed to be able to find the right words to say in this situation. His glance dropped to his own hand resting on Harry's chest and the uneven line at the meeting of two different coloured skins. Harry saw him blinking in surprise and following it with his finger. It ran around his torso and his left shoulder. There was another one above his right elbow. Malfoy's eyes darted upwards, his gaze searching for a similar one, first on Harry's neck then above. When he found none, his hand slowly lifted to Harry's forehead to rub the skin with a thumb. It came back clear of any kind of make-up; Harry knew he wouldn't be able to feel any unevenness there either, except the slight indentations where the grafts hadn't healed seamlessly.

"What… when did this happen?" Malfoy asked finally with an inscrutable expression.

"Last October, in Dublin," Harry answered. "I was lucky. G… someone got me out in time and into St. Mungo's. They were able to regrow the skin almost as it was before."

"Almost," Malfoy agreed, apparently unable to look away. Harry blinked; Malfoy's cheeks were flushed pink. The colour looked strangely endearing on him. His eyes riveted back to Harry's for the fragment of a second, then he yawned with a calculated gesture, which gave Harry the feeling he was only trying to mask his awkwardness with it, and snuggled back down into his earlier position. A few minutes later, Harry found himself absently combing through short locks that felt like strands of gossamer between his fingers, while he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that this thing didn't feel that weird after all.

That thought reminded him of Ginny's warning that perhaps he had been too quick to make a decision about his preferences. He might yet find that the fact that he was all right with her more risqué games in the bedroom didn't consequently mean he would enjoy having sex with men. He hadn't understood Ginny's concerns at the time she had confronted him. It was sort of funny that he comprehended them better now, after they had been proven wrong.

At a subconscious level, Harry had suspected it ever since he had been small. Dudley had a habit of calling random people Harry's boyfriend, just to taunt him. The only time Harry had felt uncomfortable with it had been when he had said it about Cedric, and that had been because Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend – and then was dead. Later that night, when he hadn't been able to sleep because he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Voldemort and all sorts of things connected to him, he had decided that Dudley's intolerance for boys having boyfriends must come from his aunt and uncle's fear of the things they didn't understand, like being able to do magic. For all he had known, it could have been a perfectly normal thing in the wizarding world, where he truly belonged, he just hadn't known it at the time because it had not yet come up.

The only strangeness in the situation he was in now was that it was Malfoy and not someone else, someone who was a more… logical choice. But in his experience, logic rarely entered as a factor in these kinds of decisions.

While they still had to eat breakfast in the dining room, Harry was glad to note that Lucy hadn't waited for them. It would have been suspicious if they didn't ask her what they should do with the documents they had collected from Renfield's office, and Harry wanted to have a look at them before deciding whether he wanted to hand them over or keep part of them to himself. He couldn't have used them as proper evidence, as the method by which he had acquired them was less than legitimate, but they'd be useful to get further hints as to where to continue searching. Robards was right in one thing: Harry should not have made that arrest without any palpable evidence. He was becoming worse than Moody: jumping at the first trace of some Dark magic he had felt in the presence of the Minister's staff, and second-hand information. The only valid excuse to detain them was that the residue could have been an indication of one of them being under the influence of the Imperius Curse. That had allowed Robards to save Harry from Azkaban and keep him on staff, but hadn't been enough to keep the Minister and his people in custody in order to conduct a proper investigation after the tests had come back negative.

Upon returning to their room, the first thing Harry noticed was the shimmering silver figure of a chameleon sitting on one of the beds, and instantly knew it meant trouble. The chameleon seemed to leap at him, despite the fact that real chameleons were definitely not capable of that feat, then after making contact, vanished into thin air.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked, more alarmed than the situation would have required.

"Just a message from Moody," Harry hurried to reassure him, only noticing that he had already taken an unconscious step towards Malfoy when his hand was already on the other man's shoulder, squeezing soothingly. He quickly drew back his hand, feeling uncomfortable and hesitant about how he was expected to behave now, after having slept with Malfoy.

"What was it about?"

"Ginny was attacked yesterday. She is in St. Mungo's," Harry found himself blurting out before he realised that Malfoy might not have needed to know that much detail. He really needed to get his act together – and to do that, he had to get away from Malfoy for a little while. "I have to see her."

Malfoy nodded tentatively, but he was still looking at Harry expectantly as if waiting to be invited along, which sounded ridiculous.

"Um… how about you start on those documents while I'm away?" Harry said, feeling uncomfortable from the intensity of that glance.

"I was just about to suggest the same," Malfoy answered, his tone sort of hesitant still. It served to reinforce the funny feeling in Harry's stomach that their familiar dynamics that had consisted of bantering and the occasional exchange of only the most vital information had changed to something new, as of yet undefined. Harry hadn't yet decided if he liked it.

He dressed quickly, pulling a navy blue robe over his head, then checked his appearance in passing and was ready to leave. His hand was on the door handle when he felt Malfoy stepping close to him; his head turned instinctively in that direction. He was not prepared for the light kiss he received in lieu of a goodbye, and didn't know how to react at first. Then he felt Malfoy preparing to step away, and he jolted out of his trance, grabbing Malfoy's shoulder and quickly returning the press of lips – with a little extra as an apology for his slow reactions.

"I'll be back soon," he found himself saying, just to fill the uncomfortable silence, before he closed the door behind his back. Then he spent the better part of the way to the gates fighting the blush that had crept unbidden onto his cheeks.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Ginny looked somewhat pale but otherwise fine. She was lying in the midst of white sheets and pillows, her eyes closed so that Harry thought at first she was asleep, but they opened when she heard him entering.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

"Harry? Is that you? What are you doing here?" she answered his questions with her own. She didn't seem to be pleased with his visit.

"Mad-Eye sent me a message."

Harry stepped to the end of the bed and got the answers for his own questions by checking her chart. It told him she had been subjected to a Petrificus Totalus and several annoying but not really dangerous hexes of the sort one would expect from a teenage prank. Harry let out the breath he had been holding and put the chart back in its place.

"It's nothing serious." Ginny sighed. She looked annoyed. Then she patted the generous empty space on the side of her bed in an unspoken invitation to sit. "If you're already here, you can just as well tell me what happened in the Ministry."

Harry complied with her request, not fooled by the fact that she seemed to be without her wand. Greater wizards than him had fallen victim to that assumption.

"I'm not sure how much I can tell you," he started, pursing his lips. "We went in, listened to some stupid speeches, Malfoy made you seem like a complete slut…"

"What?" Harry was ready to catch the pillow flying his way before it reached his face. He stuffed it behind his back where she couldn't reach it, and continued his account without as much as a break.

"…Some pervert was following us. We figured we'd give him something so he'd leave us alone." No sense in keeping that a secret from her; Harry had no doubts she would hear about what people thought had happened from gossip if not to her face on her first day back. It was not like her reputation would suffer from it. The fact she had been attacked at a different location should make it quite obvious that she hadn't even been in the Ministry at the time.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

Harry nodded, then paused. He really didn't know what else he could tell her. Unfortunately, Ginny was rather effective when it came to extracting information from people.

"Wait, what do you mean you gave that pervert 'something'?"

"We just acted as if… It was nothing. No one else saw it, I swear." He wished he could leave now, while he was still in one piece.

Harry knew he was blushing, though there really was no reason for it. Except for the fact that, rather than her reputation, Ginny seemed to be more interested in the part that it was Malfoy he had done those things with. Harry should have known. He knew the game was over when she suddenly stopped talking and just looked at him with that searching stare. Harry really, really wanted to be somewhere else.

"I can't believe it!" she muttered finally, almost as if in awe. "I can't believe you nailed the Prince of Slytherin!"

There was a noise coming from the door. Harry looked back over his shoulder and spotted Ron standing there, frozen to the spot, with his eyes the size of saucers. In the next second, he lurched forward with a speed that was quite frightening from a body of this size and covered the distance between the threshold and the bed with two steps. Harry saw Ron's arm lift and readied himself for the impact.

He almost fell off the bed from the exultant slap to his back. It could rival Hagrid's.

"You caught Snape? Tell me all about it!" Ron cried, eyes bright. Harry was momentarily rendered speechless.

"What is this I hear about catching Snape?" The next voice belonged to Hermione. She came right after Ron and, thank Merlin, she remembered to pull the door closed behind her.

"Ginny says Harry nailed down the Prince!" Ron turned towards her, his face shining. "Finally, he gets his due," he added, his tone becoming predatory.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione sighed, exasperated. "You know Snape worked for our side. He had to…"

"He still killed Dumbledore," was the stubborn answer. "Nothing justifies killing people."

"Um… mates? Who was talking about Snape? I was talking about Harry and Mmm…" Harry's hand shot out and covered Ginny's mouth, effectively silencing her just in time. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his oldest friend.

"Ron, I'm sorry but I still don't know any more about Snape than I did one day or one week ago."

The room instantly quieted down. Harry could feel everyone's attention focussed on him. He found himself having to swallow around the lump in his throat to be able to get out the blatant lie. "Ginny said _if_ I nailed the Prince."

"No?" Ron's face became morose. "Well, I hope you do catch him one day. Merlin knows he has a lot to atone for."

Harry was thankful both Hermione and Ginny remained silent, though he caught the tail end of a glance between them. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was a promise for a private talk later.

He thought it was high time for him to leave and go back to Malfoy… to find out whether had managed to discover anything about those documents.

"I'm sorry, I need to go," he said, standing up. He wracked his brain for a way to let Ginny know he wouldn't appreciate her talking about his private matters, even if it was with Hermione, but didn't know how to word it without the other two catching on.

"Harry, wait!" Ginny sat up abruptly, then turned to the other two. "Could I please speak with him alone for a few minutes?"

Ron and Hermione nodded and left the room.

Harry thought he was going to be made fun of, and he wasn't ready for the almost-reprimand that left her lips as soon as the door clicked closed.

"Harry, listen to me! Please, be careful. Don't trust him."

"What? Why are you telling me…"

"Don't you remember how he came to you with the information? I just have a feeling that he has something to hide. Mad-Eye says…"

"You told him that?" Harry bristled. Then he shook his head. He really had to go. "Ginny, please, not a word to anyone else. About anything. And I mean it." He saw her open her mouth to protest, so he quickly continued. "In exchange, I promise to be careful. It's not like I trust him fully…"

"You don't?" She blinked in surprise. "But you slept with him…"

"That doesn't have to do anything with it…" Harry answered, somewhat uneasy. He only realised later that he hadn't even made an attempt to deny it. Not that Ginny would have believed it at this point, anyhow.

"If you say so…"

In the end, he thought he managed to satisfy her that he wasn't going to let down his guard. He had a feeling that the disbelief apparent in her eyes was for a different reason.

**\\(****TOT)//**

He might have only spent an hour and a half with Ginny, but he still felt as he used to after having fought scores of Dark wizards for his life from dawn to nightfall. He could only hope that his tiredness wouldn't affect his mental capacities. He wanted to go through those documents personally. He didn't expect Malfoy to have found out much, not because he wasn't skilled enough but because he didn't know what to search for. Truth to be told, Harry only gave Malfoy the task to prevent him going off on his own while Harry wasn't there.

He turned the last corner in the hallway and was instantly alert when he found their door open, lights spilling through the doorframe into the semi-darkness of the corridor. He heard the muffled voices of a conversation. It only took a couple of sentences for him to identify the speakers. One of them was Malfoy; the other was the Flayer who had seen them arrive the previous night and had unfortunately witnessed their little altercation. Then Harry started paying attention to what was being said, and the little alarm bells in his head began to ring louder and louder. He sneaked close enough to the door to be able to see inside without being seen, and then stopped, listening. Apparently, he had arrived in the middle of some kind of interrogation.

An interrogation whose subject was Harry.

"Are you sure he is your boyfriend? He doesn't call you by your name. In fact, he doesn't seem very… attached to you. Is he even that way?"

Harry felt his heart thump loudly. He had made a blunder last night. His only excuse was that he had been startled, which made Malfoy just as much to blame as him, but that didn't change the fact that he had made a mistake, which could cost him his cover.

Harry risked a glance over the doorframe. The nasty purplish face pulled into a highly unattractive condescending smile – and not just unattractive because the fellow had chosen to grow tentacles in the place normal people would be growing a beard and a moustache.

Malfoy appeared uncaring. He had his back to the door, so Harry couldn't see his expression. The only indication of his discomfort was the slightly stiff angle of his shoulders when he answered with a seemingly nonchalant shrug.

"He is _that way_, Greg. Just so far in the closet he is going to find himself in Narnia any minute now…" He was using the same flippant tone he frequently employed to annoy Harry – apparently, it worked on other people just as well. Harry gave him points for creativity and studiously ignored the small detail that Malfoy was using him as the butt of a joke. The thing he couldn't ignore was the all too familiar name: Greg... Well, that answered one question but turned up new ones that Harry hadn't expected.

"Isn't that Nirvana?" He was distracted from his forming doubts by the next question; the palpable confusion in that voice sounded familiar now that Harry knew where to place it, and served – strangely – to calm Harry's twitching nerves.

"Never mind."

His decision made, Harry decided that he had heard enough. He chose that moment to enter the room as if he had just arrived.

"Hi Dra… um…Malfoy." He hoped that the change of his tone from casually cheerful to something more formal sounded less forced than he imagined. Acting was not among his strengths, but he had no better idea how to repair the obvious fractures on his cover. Malfoy blinked at him first, but he caught on as quickly as Harry had expected him to.

"Harry," he said, smiling, and damn if it didn't look real. "You can drop the formalities, we are among… friends."

Harry turned a curious glance towards the hooded figure – he didn't have to fake there. Now that he knew what to expect, the features under the dark fabric seemed somewhat familiar, but he didn't dare dwell on them for long. The man had not introduced himself and Harry suspected it had been deliberate. He thought it would be better to let him think Harry hadn't figured out his identity.

Instead he turned away and made as if he were contemplating Malfoy's words and deciding to follow the advice. He stepped close to Malfoy and planted a chaste kiss on his lips as if per usual greeting. He felt Malfoy stiffen for an instant, but then he returned the kiss. As if an afterthought, Harry nodded in the direction of Greg, without turning fully around.

There was a flash of frustrated uncertainty reflecting in the shadowed eyes. Ten seconds later, they were alone. Malfoy gave Harry a surprised, appreciative glance, which inexplicably filled him with satisfaction. It only lasted for two seconds.

The instant the door closed on them, Malfoy put up the Privacy Bubble again. This time it was big enough to encompass the whole room. Harry had the impression his own questions were going to have to wait.

"Looks like we are suspected," Malfoy pronounced in a deliberately calm tone. "We might not have much time, so I suggest you start telling me everything you have been keeping from me."

There was a minute during which a silent fight of wills took place. Harry contemplated the many different answers he could give to that question. Finally, he went with the one he thought should be most obvious.

"I can't. It's classified."

As he expected, Malfoy got angry.

"I'm in this with you. I have the right to know!"

Harry resolved to keep a cool head. To his dismay, he found that it wasn't that easy to do, with his common sense and his personal feelings fighting a war inside him. In the end, he had to remind himself of Ginny's warning.

"No. I wouldn't tell you everything even if it weren't classified. I can't trust you enough to reveal sensitive information. I don't know your allegiances, but I'm pretty sure you're not devoted to my person or the justice system. Nothing better to prove that than the way you got into this in the first place." It sounded pathetic even to his own ears – as if he were trying to convince himself.

"I understand," Malfoy nodded, suddenly calm again. "You're saying that you are justified to keep your secrets, even if they might cost my life, because you're paying me to get you inside." Malfoy's voice was steadily rising until the forced calm faded, giving way to anger once again. "Well, fuck you, Harry! You know I'd have done it even without the money! I was under the assumption, after all, that you were after the murderer of my mother."

Harry noticed that Malfoy's tone had turned cold and he had – consciously or unconsciously – returned to the aristocratic drawl he had used during the first seven years of their acquaintance – instead of the less cultured street accent he had more recently acquired, most likely to be able to blend into his surroundings. But he still used his given name. Harry was not sure what that was supposed to indicate.

He sighed and ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, wincing when they caught in a tangle.

"First off: I do want to catch Shacklebolt. He caused the deaths of several of our people as well. But there is something more important going on, compared to which he's just a small fry." Malfoy was opening his mouth to argue, but Harry lifted a hand to cut him off. He thought brutal honesty would be his best course of action.

"And no, the reason I cannot tell you about it is not the fact you're accepting my money. It's the fact I don't know what you're going to do once someone else offers more in exchange for this information. The fact that you're living from making unlicensed potions and selling them to less than respectable members of society somehow doesn't indicate I can trust you further than my money's worth." He studiously ignored a small voice in his head that told him this wasn't 'being honest', just plain brutal.

"I… thought we were past that!" Malfoy frowned.

"What?" Harry asked, bemused. "You thought we are now brothers-in-arms or what?"

"And what about last night?" Malfoy demanded, then he promptly looked as if he regretted having mentioned it.

"What about it?" Harry inquired cautiously. But even as he did, the small voice said Malfoy was right and whatever _it_ had been, it should matter. Harry was trying to expel the errant thought as irrelevant.

Malfoy didn't appear to want to talk about it either; instead he changed the topic.

"Look, would it help if I told you that I don't plan to live the rest of my life like this? I… I want to be… someone respected; someone who doesn't need to steal and sell illegal potions to make ends meet. This… is just temporary until…" Malfoy's voice drifted off and his eyes seemed to be looking at some different place – perhaps a place in the future where he could be all that.

"So you admit to stealing? Like that golden cup last time I caught you? Which, I might add, _was_ stolen two days later."

Malfoy blinked at the unexpected non-sequitur. Harry's question jerked him back from his reverie rather abruptly.

"I have an alibi," he said haughtily. "You won't be able to prove I was even near that cup when it was stolen."

Harry grimaced and made an exaggerated sigh of defeat. "I know. And if I ever catch you with that Time-Turner, I'll put you into Azkaban for ten years," he growled.

"Oh, come on, you don't mean that seriously. Besides, let me remind you of your Vow to protect me from the law if I ever got into trouble while I was working for you."

"You weren't working for me at the time."

"Prove it!"

The return to the familiar banter lightened the almost oppressive atmosphere from before. Malfoy's eyes crinkled at the corners. The silence that followed was almost relieved in contrast. It felt like a sin to break it, but Harry was acutely aware that they didn't have all the time in the world. Aside from the fact that he still couldn't risk fully trusting Malfoy before he got more information about him, now the question was starting to awaken his true interest.

"All right, let's say I believe you and in your intentions. Mind telling me what respectable and, without doubt, profitable future profession are you planning to take on?"

Malfoy's smile disappeared but the previous frown didn't return. Harry understood he wasn't angry with him, just being serious because he was talking about his plans for the future.

"I'm going to be a Potions master."

"A Potions master?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't what I initially wanted to do, but I'm sort of out of other options."

Harry tried to sort out what he knew about becoming a Potions master. Malfoy's ambition seemed unrealistic; the realisation caused an uneasy twinge in Harry's stomach.

"Not to question your proficiency, Draco, but I thought you can only become Potions master after twelve years of apprenticeship. That seems a long time to go." He didn't want to add the other reason he didn't think it would work; after all, Malfoy must have noticed by now that his past would make it hard for him to find a master who would be willing to accept him.

"Not that long," Malfoy said casually, as if he hadn't noticed Harry drawing the obvious conclusions. "Only three more years."

Harry blinked. Then he counted back. There was only one possible explanation. Harry could see in Malfoy's eyes that he expected Harry to come to the right conclusion. And now looked like he very much wanted to take it all back.

"You do know he is wanted by the law," Harry inquired slowly, being careful not to say the name aloud, even in the protection of a Privacy Charm.

"I'm not going to expose him," was the instant response.

"I know. I'm not asking you to."

"You swear you won't use me to go after him!" Malfoy demanded stepping forward, his hand lifting hesitantly as if he wanted to grab the front of Harry's robes and hold him back by it if necessary.

"I'm not going anywhere near him." Harry shrugged, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. "I can't stand arctic cold and furry robes aren't really my style either." The smile disappeared abruptly when he remembered how much he hated lying to his best friends, even if technically, he only needed to keep it a secret from Ron.

"How…?" Malfoy asked, disbelieving. The hand was now hanging limply at his side.

Harry felt somewhat uncomfortable in his skin at the scrutiny. He tried shrugging off the feeling, but of course that never worked.

"The same way as you, I reckon," he said, hiding behind an apologetic grin. "It's useful to have a snowy owl at hand when sending confidential post through Siberia. Funny he always covers pages to describe the incompetence of his students in Dark Arts but he never even mentioned you once. I didn't know Potions apprenticeship could also be done as a correspondence course…"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to shrug. "He trusts me to know how to handle myself in a sticky situation. And it isn't as if I had any other choice. I never knew… he's teaching Dark Arts now."

"Only when his headmaster's duties leave him enough time," Harry smiled wryly. He'd long given up hope to ever understand it: they hated each other passionately, but the man still took the time to write him every month, like clockwork, and regale him with a detailed account of every great deed he participated in and every small piece of career advancement he had achieved since the last time, whether Harry was interested or not. Harry was starting to think he would be expected to write his memoirs after his death.

"And how do you expect to sit your exams? You're not allowed to leave the country, so you can't go where he is. I thought you'd have to bring recommendations from your master if he is not available, but the Ministry is not likely to accept a reference from someone who is on the list of wanted criminals. In fact, you might even get into trouble for not having reported his whereabouts."

"I know. Don't worry, I have already taken care of that." There was a hint of a smirk on Malfoy's lips. "I have an Auror at my beck and call who is going to vouch for me."

"An Auror…?" Realisation slowly dawned on Harry. "You…!"

Suddenly Harry found the whole situation immensely funny. He didn't quite understand it; he thought he should be feeling angry.

"Based on the previous pattern, I take it that the only thing you have to ensure is to be working for me at the time."

Malfoy smirked and winked at him. "Oh, I'm sure I can find something to do for you while I'm at it."

Then he paused and his brows came together, deepening a vertical frown line between them. "That is, if you can avoid getting yourself killed until then. Now, are you going to finally tell me what you needed me to do this research for? I thought… but these parchments have nothing to do with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Except if you were going to suggest that he is either fallen victim to or is working for this Renfield fellow, but I rather think you're not. Right?" That last word was pronounced with an unusual care on emphasis, daring Harry to contradict the statement.

Harry remained silent.

"Fine, be like that," Malfoy spat. "I thought catching Shacklebolt was just as important to you as it was to me. He sold out several members of your precious Order, after all."

Harry blinked as Malfoy's words forced him to remember. His throat felt strangely constricted with old pain being dragged up again; pain of having been confronted with the death of people who had been important to him, even if he hadn't known all of them that well. They had been a part of what he had seen as his refuge, his security blanket during dangerous times of war. To have witnessed it being shredded so easily had been no less of a shock than Dumbledore's death. It had been an unavoidable sacrifice. Fortunately, he hadn't let himself be held back by grief for too long.

"I want to catch him as well," Harry answered finally, not being able to keep the bitter note out of his voice.

According to the files he had dug up with painstaking secrecy throughout the past years, the Ministry had not been overly bothered by the deaths of a couple of vigilantes. Quite the opposite in fact: there had been an unspoken relief between the lines of those reports that said that if the Order of the Phoenix got eradicated to the last member, it would be just one problem less the Ministry had had to deal with. Harry had been seething for weeks after that discovery – no, actually, he had never stopped feeling that way; he had just successfully buried it deep, under tons of problems concerning his work and private life.

"So what is your problem? Surely, you couldn't have forgotten that he practically killed your mates – murdered my mother! Though the latter might not mean much to you."

Harry was momentarily at a loss in the face of Malfoy's sudden emotional outburst. It wasn't the admission of grief that threw him but the way Malfoy had obviously expected Harry to understand, and the hurt he had allowed him to see when Harry had failed to show sympathy. Harry was not ready to deal with the sudden change that seemed to have occurred some time during the past few days. So of course, his first automatic response was delivered in self-defence, aimed at restoring the familiar distance between them.

"Technically, he didn't murder your mother. He killed her in the line of duty when she drew her wand on one of the other Aurors sent to arrest her." He mentally winced when he realised how that had sounded. He wondered why he wasn't able to feel any satisfaction that he had succeeded in hurting Malfoy, as it was obvious he had.

"Well, Potter, that's straight talk at least." Malfoy's tone was bitter. "I should have known better than to think that anything had changed just because of a little romp between the sheets. You never gave a shite for people like me and my mother, but I didn't think you'd be capable of using me the way… the way…" Then he abruptly stopped.

Harry looked up at him sharply, his patience at its end, especially because what Malfoy was accusing him with just… just wasn't true. And why did Malfoy think he was the only one who could be hurt?

"The way you and your likes would have done, had the situation been reversed? You thought I was better than that? What? Saint Potter? Golden Boy of Gryffindor?" It was strange to hear that cynical tone from his own mouth. As if his and Malfoy's roles had been reversed.

Harry could see Malfoy's Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He sneaked a brief glance at Harry, but his lips remained firmly closed, pressed together into a thin line. Harry suddenly felt tired of it all.

"Don't come to me with this 'Saint Potter' crap," he said slowly. "That sort of thing only ever existed in your mind. It's what you made me out to be, not what I am… or ever was."

Malfoy blinked, his whole frame trembling with annoyance. Then the trembling subsided at once, and he shook his head, snorting. It hadn't been clear who the snort was meant for: himself or Harry.

Harry thought that if Malfoy wanted to believe in the pretty ideal of inherent goodness in a person of his own choosing it was his own fault when he got disillusioned, not said person's. Apparently, big bad Slytherins needed those ideals just as much as goody-goody Gryffindors, even if it was just to use them as reference to make finding their designated place on the 'dark side' of the universe easier. Harry didn't feel like further accommodating Malfoy's delusions out of the goodness of his heart. He didn't care what Malfoy thought of him, he said to himself, even though a small voice of reason in the back of his mind seemed adamant to refute that.

"Are you trying to endear yourself to me with this shite?" Malfoy asked, finally turning face to face with Harry. Harry was taken aback by the apparent anger in his eyes. "Do you think I'll suddenly fall in line with your cause if you show me that we are more similar than I thought? Well, bully for you, Potter, because I don't. I want my revenge, whether you're part of it or not." It was a good indication of his state of mind that, for the first time that day, he slipped up over Harry's name.

"Don't you understand? This thing is a lot bigger than personal revenge! Sure, I want him dead, too. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, as they say. But my priorities are with the living, not the dead."

"As are mine," Malfoy said after a second's silence. His voice was oddly muted. "I don't want him dead, just to suffer. And not for what he did to my mother. For what he did to me by taking her away from me."

Harry shook his head, feeling bitterness surging up his oesophagus and seeping into his voice.

"If you want him to suffer, Draco, then you'll have to kill his daughter. That was about the only thing that mattered to him, last time I saw him."

Malfoy stayed silent. Apparently, he didn't know how to answer to that. He took a deep breath and then pushed it out, slowly and noisily.

"All right," he murmured in a tone that said he was far from having closed the topic but he was willing to let it slide for now. "How about we start talking about things that matter here and now, _Harry?_" Harry thought this was as close to a voiced peace offering he would ever get from him. There had been a note of what he had assumed to be impatience in the question, but after having replayed it in his mind, he thought it sounded closer to worry.

That instantly tripped his alarms.

"You found something in those documents," he stated. It didn't need to be a question. "All right. Tell me what you discovered and I'll tell you what I can," he said finally.

He knew he was making his decision too hastily, but a nagging worry in the back of his mind, that had been there ever since he had returned and found Malfoy with company, warned him against losing more time with pointless squabbles.

Malfoy nodded tightly and stepped to the bookshelf to extract the folder from between two books on the second lowest level. He had most likely hidden it there when Greg had appeared at his door.

"I did discover something, all right. This folder is full of potions whose main component is human blood. I haven't seen anything like these before, except in ancient texts from the time when it was perfectly permissible to use one's neighbours as involuntary test objects. The only thing I can tell with certainty is that they are Dark." Malfoy started his hasty account sounding irritated still, but by the time he launched into an explanation, the note of previously displayed anger was gone from his voice and had been replaced by detached professionalism.

"One stack of the parchments contains research notes and test reports of a potion whose aim is to gain complete control over a person."

"Like Imperius?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, it's different; it goes a lot further than that: the blood used in it assures that the target has no chance of ever breaking free. The potion's effect only ends if either the controller or the controlled person dies – it's usually the latter. It works differently as well. Firstly, the target doesn't have to be present for it to start affecting him. It is enough if there is a sample of his blood in the potion. The one who wants control then drinks it, and the target is under the influence of the spell. Secondly, the target's mind is completely controlled. All of the personality and even the most basic thoughts are wiped out, and what you get is basically only a hull of flesh and bones to be directed at the controller's will: like a puppet on strings."

"Well, shite," Harry whispered.

"Quite. At least, if they use the strongest type because there are other versions of the potion with weaker effect. On the other hand, the potion cannot be used as a substitute for Imperius. It's not made for subtly manipulating people into doing things without their acquaintances discovering that they are controlled. Victims of Imperius retain their normal state of mind in every other aspect of their lives."

"Not with this potion, though?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No. Additionally, the controller must be 'in control' all the time in order to sustain even basic body functions of the controlled person. Not things like breathing, but definitely sleeping and eating. It is as though the person in control slips out of his body and into another. He cannot stay longer than a few days without risking his own body dying from dehydration or lack of nutrition, or have someone tending it in his absence. Controlling another person like that takes a big toll on the system. I think it was only rarely used even when the spell was still practiced. That's why I haven't seen any mention of it before today."

"It isn't practiced anymore?"

"Not that I know of, and I have been studying Potions for nearly fifteen years. Believe me, I would know. The references in the folder are from different tomes and have only limited information about the original potion. Whoever did the work of finding and piecing all this together has done a thorough job. But, knowing all the ramifications, I don't think it would have been of much real use to them."

"I wouldn't dismiss it so quickly. Someone went to a lot of trouble to gather all these pieces of information." Harry said, frowning and rubbing his temples. He wished for some coffee or even some of Malfoy's funny tasting tea. "You said one stack of the parchments. What about the rest? Anything interesting in there?"

"Oh, definitely interesting. For example, I found a study about using vampiric blood to create a potion that mimics a vampire's ability to have access to the mind of a person whose blood they consumed."

"Let me guess, the consumer ends up controlling this person?"

"Not necessarily. But they can read their thoughts and emotions, and perceive what their senses take in. Mind control only occurs if the victim has a weak will. But don't worry, that isn't the same as being crap in Occlumency," Malfoy added flippantly, but the humour of it fell flat in face of these revelations.

"Anything else?" Harry growled.

"Incomplete research on other blood-based potions: one to render the person whose blood was taken dependant on the consumer – most likely used in generating master-slave bonds; one to bodily incapacitate the victim; there was even one to create a double of the victim out of a toad – ever wonder why your doppelganger-tale has been so easily believed?"

Harry shook his head, frowning. He couldn't even get irritated with Malfoy, because the fact that he wasn't making a real effort to rib him made it pointless. In fact, now that he really looked, Malfoy was acting as if he was just going through the motions for the sake of preserving normalcy, not because he felt like it. The straight line between his brows hadn't evened out one smidgen ever since he had started talking about his discoveries. Harry didn't like it.

"There is something you're not telling me."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, his tone mocking. "And here I thought I was the only one left in the dark."

Harry was already reaching for the front of Malfoy's collar to yank him to his feet when he realised that he had been tricked. Malfoy had dropped the folder and brandished a small dagger from somewhere – presumably he had had it hidden in his sleeve all this time. He gripped Harry's wrist with the other hand and held it in place. The slim, silver blade came down suddenly on his forearm to make a neat cut, then fell onto the carpet with a metallic flash when Malfoy dropped it right away.

Blood blossomed along the thin line, trickling down Harry's arm to his elbow. Harry made a belated attempt then to free himself, but the grip on his arm was stronger than he had expected. He wasn't able to prevent Malfoy from curling his fingers around the wound after which he murmured a quick incantation. He didn't even bother to use his wand. Harry only knew it had been a spell because he felt the short sting of pain in and around the wound. He finally managed to escape the unexpectedly firm hold, though only because Malfoy let him go.

Harry felt the urge to get out his wand and hex Malfoy into next Sunday, but the fact that neither Mad-Eye's Dark-detector nor the standard Dark protection vaccination in his blood had reacted violently to the spell helped him keep a cool head.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed furiously, dabbling blood with his robe sleeve, since it was already ruined.

Malfoy's eyes were fixed on the still bleeding cut. He looked shaken but also relieved.

"A Healing Charm."

"And what for? It seems to defeat the purpose if you only cut me to heal me afterwards, Draco. Besides, it didn't work." Harry frowned at the still bleeding wound on his skin, then fixed it with a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation.

"And be glad for that," Malfoy returned on a low, solemn voice. "It's only supposed to work if you're under the influence of that controlling potion. Compensates for the fact that the controller cannot feel the controlled body and thus, might be prone to cause harm to it."

Harry took several seconds to ingest the information, then rolled his eyes.

"I could have told you I'm not. I'm not mad enough to come here without having set up appropriate wards."

Malfoy laughed at that, though it came out a bit wan.

"Oh, right, Harry. Next time I'll let you tell me if you're being controlled. Except, you won't be able to, because you are being controlled…" Harry rolled his eyes again, but before he could have opened his mouth, Malfoy continued. "That little logical glitch aside, your wards wouldn't have been of any use. The potion is Dark, but you're not the one who has to consume it; you're just the one who donated the blood. There was a reason why it was created, even despite all those drawbacks. It's virtually undetectable – just like all the other ones within that stack of parchments."

Harry nodded slowly, taking in Malfoy's words and wondering how close this dangerous knowledge had come to being realised. He briefly considered the option that Malfoy could be a victim, but then what reason would he have to reveal all this to him? He replayed the words once more in his head and something different caught his attention.

"You said I 'donated the blood'. It didn't sound like you were simply describing a possibility," he said evenly.

Malfoy didn't answer immediately. Instead he stood up and pulled out a hastily folded parchment from the inner pocket of his robes. Harry recognised it as the one Malfoy had taken from the office last night. He accepted it from Malfoy with a curious glance, discovering that it was an official report of trespass in the Auror Headquarters' medical room and stolen blood samples. His first thought was to wonder how this sort of document had landed on that particular table. To his knowledge, the Minister's advisory staff had no business to look into matters of security. Harry had the suspicion that it had been there to be quietly disposed of. That thought also made him wonder what had made Malfoy think that it could become important, since he could hardly have known. He skimmed through the paragraphs and found a list of people whose blood samples had been reported missing on the morning following the trespass. That was when he spotted the significance.

His own name was on the list.

Which meant, Malfoy had had a good reason to think his blood had been used for a potion. The full implications of that conclusion dawned on him when he looked up from his reading and saw the other wizard looking at him with suspicion in his eyes.

"Let me guess, you haven't found any means to test for the other potions," Harry murmured.

Malfoy silently shook his head.

He didn't have time to elaborate, though, because in the next second, the door to their room clicked open, revealing Lucy standing on the doorstep, head cocked to the side and wearing an inscrutable smile on her face. She waved her wand, and Malfoy's Privacy Charm disappeared with a small pop.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"I must confess, I expected to find you two somewhere different – doing something different – after having had that Privacy Charm up for so long…" Lucy said, the 'wearing something different' – or rather 'wearing considerably less'-part implied in her tone. Her lips quirked into an unapologetic grin when her statement brought identical blushes to both Harry's and Malfoy's cheeks.

Of course, that was all just an act, and after the first few seconds spent in uncomfortable silence, she didn't even try to pretend she expected them to believe it. "I can see now it was a good idea to bring you here, Mr Malfoy," she continued with a more business-like veneer.

She took a couple of steps into the room, and Harry found himself automatically moving to stand between her and Malfoy. It surprised not only him but judging from the small noise, also the other man. Malfoy stepped forward but came to a halt behind Harry.

For a second, a peculiar expression crossed Lucy's face, then she chuckled, the sound reverberating in the otherwise silent room.

"I don't know how you did it, Mr Malfoy, but apparently you did get him to trust you eventually. Congratulations," she said with a sarcastic tone in her voice that made Harry scowl at her. "You have done good work. Too bad we have no further use for Mr Potter. Now you can complete your assignment and get rid of him."

"What?" For a second, Harry thought the incredulous cry had come from him. "I'm not… What are you talking about?"

"Now, now, Mr Malfoy. There is no need to play your role anymore. The assignment is over as soon as you finish it, and then you can collect your payment as agreed – a very generous amount, I must say." Lucy took another step into the room and turned her smiling face toward Harry. "A nasty surprise, isn't it, Mr Potter? I am still going to thank you for stealing those documents for me. It would have been a shame not to make use of your special… abilities before ordering your death – you were offering, after all."

There was silence. Harry was standing very still, his eyes never moving from her face.

"You're bluffing," he told her finally in a calm voice.

He was vaguely aware of Malfoy letting out a shaky breath behind his back. He could hear Mad-Eye's voice inside his head, shrieking at him that he was making a tactical error by allowing a potential enemy behind his defences. On the other hand, Moody had never understood why Harry would take such risks, ignoring logic in favour of what his heart told him, but even he had to acknowledge that it worked. Right now, Harry's heart was telling him that he could trust Malfoy. "And very badly at that."

Malfoy took a step forward to stand beside Harry. He was a solid presence at his side, supporting him despite the fact that, just ten minutes ago, they had been at each other's throats. Lucy's lips pulled into an exaggerated pout.

"Aw, that's so sweet," she purred. Harry thought she looked entirely too confident for someone who had just lost face. "You cannot blame me for trying, though," she said then, confirming Harry's suspicions that this failed mind game had been of little consequence in face of what was about to follow.

"You know who I am," he started with the question that wasn't really one.

"Is it time for introductions?" Lucy asked with a trill of laughter. "Of course I do. I take it you, in turn, know who I am, right?"

Harry shrugged; from the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy's head jerking in his direction, but he stayed silent, for which Harry was grateful. Still, he thought it would be strategically more beneficial if Malfoy knew all the facts.

"Dilato's body was found dead two weeks ago," he said, directing the first half of his message to Malfoy. Though there had been doubts among the Aurors that the body found was really Dilato's, Harry now felt certain that Moody's guess had been right. "It has been suspected for a while that he wasn't the real leader here, just a pawn. Did he step over his boundaries, or were you trying to control him with that nice potion whose description your Mr Renfield was hiding in his office?"

She was playing her part rather well; Harry had almost not caught the momentary narrowing of her eyes that betrayed her surprise at the question.

"Oh no, Castor was useful in his way. The descendant of a powerful line of pure-bloods, magically strong, just not very strategically minded. He knew his place and was willing to take my 'advice' as long as I was content with supporting the illusion that he was the one holding the reins. His death was… unexpected."

And she still didn't know whom to 'thank' for it.

"Did you try to use the controlling potion on us?" Malfoy cut in suddenly. His voice was steadier than before. He must have caught on to Harry's intentions to stall a bit and try to get the most information out of her before things turned ugly. For now, Lucy wasn't letting on how she planned to prevent them from leaving the place. Harry hoped that if they managed to keep her talking, she would sooner or later let something slip.

"That's what you're afraid of?" Lucy asked in a mock-surprised voice. "I didn't. If I had, I assure you, several things would have happened differently, and you two would be now in a hermetically closed bedroom, going at it like bunnies – and I'd have a VIP seat for the show."

Harry tried to suppress an inconvenient blush with little success, aware of the fact that her deliberate ribaldry was a distraction technique – but dammit, it worked too well. Her answer, though, indicated that she hadn't heard and seen what they had been doing while under the Privacy Charm, or else she was just humouring them.

Malfoy had a thicker hide because he immediately pressed on with the next question – this time a real one.

"And what about the other potions? Did you use one of those?"

Harry didn't like the way Malfoy's question made her smile.

"The other ones… Ah, you must be wondering about the one with which I'd be able to see into your mind. Am I right?" Her voice turned wistful, which didn't fit the situation at all. "Isn't it frightening to know that there is someone out there you don't see and don't hear, whose presence you don't even feel, listening in to every little thought you have? Seeing what you see and hearing what you hear? Feeling what you feel? Learning things _you_ don't even know about yourself?" Her lips pulled into a wide, leering smile that made Harry wince. "I must admit, it would have been a real temptation with you two, especially last night…"

Lucy's glance flickered behind them again – Harry only now realised it hadn't been the first. She had done that several times in the past few minutes. Then she suddenly pulled herself up straight, her relaxed stance gone at once.

Harry instantly understood two things. One: that it had been a mistake to stall, as she had obviously been doing the same. Two: that whatever she had been stalling for was now here and the wait was over.

He couldn't have known that she had been waiting for nightfall in order to be able to carry out her plans – now, as he risked a covert glance over his shoulder and saw the recently descended darkness through the windowpanes, things suddenly became clear to him. Realisation set in as Lucy continued her speech.

"Alas, Mr Renfield had his own agenda and I hadn't known that he had already managed to steal the research notes from the Department of Mysteries. Thus, I had to resort to using the real thing."

I reckoned that was my clue to reveal myself.

No more hiding in the shadows, no more the secret observer. Finally, after all these years, we got to meet again, face to face.

**\\(****TOT)//**

Harry was surprised, but not as much as I'd have expected. Malfoy at his side was shell-shocked and then also fuming with anger at the same time, but still ready for action, and I had to respect that in him. A brief glimpse into Harry's mind revealed that he was appreciating it as well; however, for different reasons.

"You!" Malfoy shouted, his foot jerking, as if he wanted to take a step forward but then thought better of it.

I gave him a grin and a nod – there was no reason to be impolite, after all. Even if, regrettable as it was, I'd most likely end up killing both of them. Alas, never try to be polite with mortals; it's a wasted effort: it only serves to fuel their anger – or their fear.

Harry, on the other hand, found his inner calm and was preparing for a fight. He thought Malfoy's antics would be able to distract me. A silly thing to do – he couldn't have won and he should have known it.

"Draco…" Harry's hand that wasn't clutching his wand curled around Malfoy… ah, right, I should be calling him Draco now. Harry had switched to calling him by his first name sometime during the previous day and I hadn't even noticed until now. He was now holding Draco's wrist in a firm grip – not restraining him, just reminding him to not rush into a fight impulsively. I should be proud of him that he had managed to learn that lesson himself. He had made a fine Auror, no more the hot-headed, barely-of-age boy as I'd last seen him.

"Well, as nice as this little reunion is, we have no time for small talk," Lucy cut in, impatiently. "Kingsley, catch them now."

The order was clear and my reaction instant. They had no chance to escape me. Before either of them could even blink, I had already moved and curled my fingers around their throats. My strength is easily enough to lift a human off the floor, my touch is paralysing for those I choose to become my victims, and it didn't matter one bit that they still had their wands, as they weren't able to lift them or utter a curse, even. If that had been possible, I would not have died that night in the graveyard.

No, the abilities of a mere human body, or even the mind, aren't powerful enough against me; those couldn't save them. What could – and would - were the Dark protections injected into Harry's blood, much like Muggle vaccinations. Sometimes, I wish they had been developed when they could have saved my life.

My skin was burning with the power of a thousand suns biting into my flesh and, against my orders, I let go of him. No mind control is capable of overriding a vampire's instincts for self-preservation.

Harry broke his fall with a practiced move and rolled away from me. He was on his feet in the next second, his wand trained on me. Or at least in my direction, because the only thing he was able to point it at was Draco's body, which I held in front of me as a human shield.

"Why did you let him get free?" Lucy asked with a snarl. I think she had a pretty good idea herself.

"Auror protections," I answered, though I felt it was unnecessary.

Her wand quickly moved to point at Harry. I had seen her using it; I knew her efficiency. She could easily have cursed him. What made her hesitate was the way he had managed to free himself from my hold. She didn't know whether her spells would work on him.

The conclusion was obvious. She shifted her focus and aimed at Draco.

"Potter! Put down your wand and surrender if you don't want me to order my vampire to snap his neck. I had plans for him that require him alive, but I am more than prepared to sacrifice him if you force me to." Lucy's warning was as cold as my blood; it didn't leave any doubt about her intentions.

Harry shivered and hesitated. He caught the raw fear in Draco's eyes, but also something else: defiance. I had the feeling that if Draco were able to talk in my grip, he would have told Harry to keep his wand. Draco was well aware of the consequences of such a refusal. There was no question whether I would or wouldn't kill him. Apparently, Harry had not expected that uncharacteristic act of bravery from him – neither had I, for that matter. I think that was what finally made him surrender his wand.

The wood fell onto the carpet with a soft thump.

Lucy moved instantaneously, pointing her wand at him. "Step away from that stick, pretty boy," she purred, contented that she had got her way.

Harry shot her a dark glare, but obeyed. Then, in a sudden reversal, he lunged and stepped up right next to Lucy.

Lucy was a good tactician when it came to directing a business or a crime organisation – there was not much of a difference between the two – but she had only limited experience in battle. She usually let others fight for her – like Dilato, for example. She had made a grave error when she had allowed Harry to get that close to her, which he didn't hesitate to exploit.

By the time she realised what was happening, Harry had already stepped around her outstretched wand and inside her defences. A flash of movement, and strong fingers seized her wrist. He disarmed her within a fraction of a second, sliding behind her back and pointing her own wand at her temple. Harry's other hand curled around her throat in a tight hold – the same way mine was curled around Draco's. The resemblance was so striking, it managed to distract me for a second. They both looked so fragile, slender and creamy pale… but no, this wasn't the time to indulge my sweet tooth.

"I will not kill her if you let Draco go." Harry's voice meant business. His concentration on the mêlée, he hadn't yet started wondering why I had allowed him to even out the odds so easily. It almost saddened me to have to disappoint him.

"I cannot do that. I have my orders."

"I repeat. If you don't let him go, I will kill her."

He was bluffing well – or would have been, had I not been able to see his innermost thoughts. Harry was a good Auror. He had disposed of many of his enemies – in the heat of battle, when he had no other choice but to kill or be killed. What he was not was a murderer who would be able to end a life in cold blood. Too bad.

"That would be a relief, actually," I told him.

Lucy's body jerked wildly in his arms but he held on fast, never letting his grip loosen. She meant to shout another order to me, but she froze into stillness while still just opening her mouth. Harry was quicker than her, and was apparently able to throw a Body-Bind nonverbally. Very effective.

"What do you mean?" he asked after removing the disturbance.

I didn't see a point in mincing my words.

"You know the control can only be broken by the death of one involved. If you killed her, I'd be free of my orders. But as long as she is alive, I can't comply with your request."

Yes, straight speech he understood. Even if the situation wasn't yet fully clear to him, he was trying to get the full picture. That much hadn't changed since he had been young and under my protection…

"I knew there was something strange about you last time we talked." Harry's voice jolted me out of my musings. I should be paying more attention to him, I reminded myself. It came to me as a surprise how hard it seemed to keep track of my subject's thoughts and hold a conversation with him at the same time. I'd never done this before: come face to face with my assignments – except when I had killed them, but that didn't really count.

"When did this happen?" he asked with a little frown that said he was sorry for me. I have to admit I hadn't expected that kind of emotion; it amused me greatly, which prompted me to reward him with an answer.

"Two months after Dumbledore's death. I was sent on a nocturnal surveillance in a graveyard where You Know Who was supposed to have staged a meeting. Unfortunately, we didn't know whom he was meeting and fell prey easily to the creatures that inhabited the graveyard. I died that night, right after having seen my partner being killed. However, come next nightfall, I woke up – he didn't."

"Was that why you betrayed the Order?" Harry asked, very quietly and seriously. I felt compelled to answer him truthfully. It was strange to have this talk with a former comrade. It stirred up a sense of nostalgia that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"No and yes. The fact that I was turned wouldn't have been enough reason to also turn coat, so to speak. It was the wrong people learning about it and wanting to recruit me for their side. But I believe we have already talked about that."

He nodded, hesitantly. The reminder caused the conversation of the night I had left the Order for good to emerge from his memories and made me relieve it with him. I remembered every second of it, and it was strange to see it from his perspective this time. I heard myself speaking those condemning words… no, the words were just describing what I had done; my actions had been what had condemned me, even more than what I had become.

_"It's not like I agree with their methods,"_ I saw myself pleading. _"And I sure as hell don't agree with their ideals. But half of my family is now dead because of them and because they thought I would be a good means to deliver you. I'm not in this anymore. I decided to salvage what can still be saved. I know you might not understand but the life of my only remaining daughter is more important to me than…"_

He had cut in then, with all the power and desperation of his young ideals, trying to bring me back to my senses.

_"But if Voldemort wins, she is going to die or live in fear. You can't seriously want that. You cannot seriously not have considered that."_

My lips had twisted into a wry smile.

_"I have considered it. My decision is final. I trust in your abilities; I know you are going to kill that bastard and be able to deal with all your other enemies as well."_

_"You realise that this makes you one of those 'other enemies'."_ Harry's voice was low and steady. It wasn't a question and wasn't perceived as one either. The smile on my face faded abruptly. It hadn't been much of a smile to begin with.

_"I know. And I accept that. Even if I die by either his hand or yours, my daughter is going to live. That's all that matters to me."_

_"And what about the other lives you endanger? What about Ron and Hermione and Tonks? You are… were an Auror…"_

I remember thinking then that there was no time for this argument. He couldn't change what had already happened and I was tired of fighting against my conscience.

_"Right. Harry, this might hit you hard, but I don't believe in ideals anymore. Being an Auror means chasing Dark Wizards. Saving the innocent isn't a part of my job description."_

It surprised me how vividly he remembered this last part. The memory faded, and we returned to the present again.

"What happened to your daughter? Was it worth it? Is she still alive?" Harry asked then.

I couldn't answer him aloud. Worth it? Yes, it had been worth it – anything would have been worth her life. She had been the only one who remained to me – the only connection to the life I'd once had. _Do you think I'd be here and not with her, were she still there for me?_

He reeled back and I realised that I formed that last question with the intention for him to catch it – without having uttered a word.

"You really are in my mind," he whispered, stunned. "What… what happened to her?"

"She was killed for her blood to be used in a spell to gain control of me," I told him. It had been the greatest mistake of my life – or my un-life. During the day, they had caught her. By the time night had come, she had already been dead and I had been made a slave to the woman he was holding captive.

I saw realisation slowly dawning on his face as he pieced the clues together. "You knew that I was going to attack her and you let me do it."

I nodded. Not much to argue with that. I felt Draco's body twitch in my hold, and Harry's attention was briefly riveted at the object of our bargain – or what I was hoping to become a bargain very soon.

"If I help you get your freedom back, will you let Draco go and let us leave with her?"

There was a noise coming from Draco, as if he were trying to object. I could feel his hatred practically burning through my skin – had he been able to transform it into raw magic, he might have killed me with it by then. Or tried to, at any rate. Harry was able to tell as well that Draco was not at all happy with that offer.

"I would," I said, amused by the useless squirming of this puny human in my grasp. _Well, perhaps just a little taste… but no, that could lose me their cooperation. There will be time for it later._ "Unfortunately, the spell cannot be broken unless one of us dies. You will have to kill her, as I cannot lay a hand on her."

I saw contemplation in his eyes. His body stiffened, and he was actually considering it, but I wasn't holding my breath – figuratively speaking, of course.

He shook his head, frowning. "Isn't there a way around that? I need her alive."

"Sorry."

"Then I can't."

"You might change your mind later."

As interesting as this little interlude had been, it had been, sadly, destined to disappoint. And even if I dared to hope, the minutes had been slowly ticking by; time had run out on us. The last participant of the game had arrived.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry had been distracted by his internal warring. He had not been expecting the sudden appearance of another player in the set up. It caught him unawares. I couldn't be blamed for not having warned him; I still had my orders. Nonetheless, I had expected a little more resistance from him.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"Where have you been, Renfield?" Lucy sounded irritated when Harry's curse was finally lifted off her.

"I came as fast as I could," Renfield answered. He was a short, aging, not very impressive-looking wizard. It was just in his personality to fall back on self-defence whenever he felt threatened. Lucy had chosen him because the fact he did not like to acknowledge his failings paired with being easy to intimidate with power made him an easy subject for blackmail. He was a pure-blood from an old family, with some name that ended predictably with 'us', I think… Oh, right: Gus. Not that anyone remembered it.

"No matter now." Lucy was controlling her anger admirably, considering the recent events. "The plan has changed. We must get rid of him." She gestured towards Harry with disappointment firmly etched on her features. "He is too dangerous for us to try and put him under our influence. Renfield! Bring Draco to the Potions lab. I need him to start brewing this controlling potion as soon as possible. Vampire, you can let him go now, then you can have your way with Potter. You can do anything with him as long as he ends up dead."

"But what makes you think Malfoy is going to be willing to make you the potion?" Renfield asked with a pained tone while following her fast-paced steps with nervous eyes – he had a good reason to be nervous. "And why do you need it in the first place? I thought everyone you use it on dies after a short time…"

"Oh, he will brew it, believe me, if he wants to live. As to why I need the potion…" Lucy stopped shortly and laughed, making Renfield cringe with fear. "…To hold my pet vampire in tighter reins. Technically, it could kill him, but it isn't like he could get any more dead than he already is."

Draco's body stiffened in my hold again. I let Renfield cast Mobilicorpus on him and puppet him out of the room after Lucy, then I turned to Harry.

He was still standing stiff in the middle of the room, but he wasn't unconscious as a normal wizard would be. A spark of anger and desperation was burning in his eyes as now he had come to understand the true extent of Lucy's scheme. That surge of emotion was usually enough for a trained Auror to break free of a Body-Bind, so I didn't need to call back Renfield to remove it. I only had to wait – and not even for very long.

I thought his first move would be to dive for his wand or even to come at me charging with his bare hands in the hope that he would be able to overcome me with sheer luck and instinctive spellcasting. A couple of years ago, he would have done that. Now though, he just stood there, his eyes boring into me, measuring, and waiting for me to make the first move.

When I didn't, he cautiously opened his mouth, his eyes trained on me and aware of my slightest movements.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked, readying himself for battle.

I shrugged. My appetite was pretty much gone at the thought that soon, I'd be under the influence of yet another potion, which would allow Lucy absolute control over me. Whether it be Draco who brewed it or someone else, granting me a bit of a reprieve until Lucy managed to find the person to do it, I had no doubts that she would, eventually, and I would be her slave until her death.

"Let you go, I suppose."

He frowned. "Aren't you ordered to kill me?" he asked cautiously. He didn't want to give me ideas, I suppose.

"No, I'm not." Lucy had yet to learn how to give unambiguous orders. It would grant me little satisfaction to spite her, but that was the only thing that remained to me. Or perhaps Harry would manage to arrest and convict her if I let him; perhaps the other Aurors or Azkaban would kill her… Delusions, all of them. I knew, even if Harry did his job, she wouldn't be staying in Azkaban for long – it wasn't as though Dementors were a real challenge for a vampire familiar.

There must have been another flicker of the blood connection between us, or Harry's analysing skills had improved during the last years, because it seemed he had been able to follow the majority of my mental reasoning.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I asked. "Go and free Draco. It shouldn't be hard. I ordered Renfield to let him go as soon as Lucy got out of sight. After that, you could perhaps do me a favour and try to catch Lucy," I said.

"Well then, till next time we meet…" Harry nodded slowly, but he wasn't moving.

"Next time we meet, it is going to be under different circumstances." That was both wishful thinking and a promise to find a better time to settle the matters that remained unresolved between us.

I should have been perhaps alerted when I found myself suddenly tossed out of his head for the fragment of a second. I had no idea that could be done. Alas, he managed to surprise me.

"I thought I'd try something first," he said, a bit tentatively, as if he was asking for my permission, except that he didn't give me a chance to actually voice it.

His wand was in his hand – he must have summoned it. He thrust forward with it with all his mortal strength, aiming for the middle of my chest.

Who would have thought that a wand stabbed through one's heart would hurt that damn much ...before the magic of a damaged Unicorn hair core turned one's body into fine, grey dust.

**\\(****TOT)//**

"You're Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Defeater of the Dark Lord. Auror. Protector of Law and kittens… don't tell me this is the place where you live?!"

Harry let out a frustrated groan and stepped over the threshold with Draco in tow. He had spent less than a week on this self-imposed assignment but it felt like he hadn't been home for a year. Moreover, his flat, too, looked like no one had been there to clean for the same amount of time.

"You can have Ron's old bedroom," he said, ignoring the previous question. "It's down the hall to the left."

Ron had moved out one and a half years previously, but Harry still hadn't found the resolve to clean out his old room and remove the furniture he had left. Now his laziness – well, he called it nostalgia – turned out to have its uses. Of course, it wouldn't be needed if Robards hadn't foisted Malfoy off on him – it was hard to remember to call him 'Draco' when he was criticising Harry's style.

"I'm getting Weasley's cast-offs? What has become of the world?" He heard Malfoy's—oh, all right, Draco's whining from the other room and had the unexplainable urge to snort instead of going on a rampage for the insult to Ron. He shook his head and had to admit he didn't know what was with him these days. What had made him say yes to Robards' request?

"Hey! You should be glad I took it upon myself to haul your arse out of the holding cell. I could have left you there!"

"Uh-uh, Harry. Remember your Vow," came Draco's sing-song voice. "You promised to get me out of trouble…" He padded out of his new room and stopped in front of Harry, his hands on his hips.

"Technically, that's true," Harry said, with exaggerated care. "But I asked Robards and he said you weren't in any trouble. They just wanted to keep you there for your own safety for a couple of weeks until the case is tied up." That said, Robards had been more than willing to hand this responsibility over to Harry.

Draco had been free to leave after having sat through six hours of questioning. It took nearly as much time for Harry to write his report – both the official and unofficial one. He had managed to call reinforcements and catch Lucy, Renfield and most of Dilato's employees who had been in the mansion at the time. Greg hadn't been among them. When Harry had asked Draco, he had avoided a direct answer and Harry hadn't forced the issue. In the end, Harry had decided to leave Greg out of both of his reports.

Lucy had been questioned under Veritaserum – the Prior Incantato cast on her wand revealed interesting results, which empowered the Auror on duty to use the potion. She was under reinforced custody, but during the six hours she had been there, no one had come to her rescue, however loud and persistent she had been, yelling for her familiar. They were already preparing a cosy cell in Azkaban for her. Even without the Veritaserum, Harry had been able to give enough condemning evidence on her to secure her a life-long stay.

Renfield, on the other hand, was another matter. The fact that Harry had all but stolen those documents from his office had made it very hard to prove his hand in the illegal Dark potion business. Veritaserum had been employed, but apparently, it hadn't been of much use. All his questioners had been able to accomplish was to get him to call for some kind of 'Master' of his. A confrontation with Lucy showed that it wasn't her he was calling.

Harry had a pretty good idea who this mysterious 'Master' could be. If he was right, that would have explained on whose order Renfield had been keeping the documents from Lucy. But Harry hadn't seen a reason to reveal his assumption, seeing as the Aurors had not been able to find even a hint that the person in question had ever been inside the mansion, or been in contact with anyone in Castor Dilato's organisation. Thus, Harry had chosen to leave that detail out of his reports as well.

Robards would never know a large chunk of what had happened – particularly the parts concerning Draco Malfoy's illegal activities. It had been pretty much a given that Harry would not be able to reveal those. There was only one thing that he would be forced to disclose sooner or later, but Harry reckoned he had approximately three more years to figure out how to deal with that problem. If he was honest with himself, he didn't really mind that task. He was certain that helping Draco to be able to rise above the life he was leading now and become a law-abiding citizen of the wizarding society was ultimately a good deed.

Harry was not so certain about how he should be dealing with Draco's presence in his flat. He just wanted a good night sleep; perhaps, in the morning, he would be able to figure out why he hadn't thought twice about bringing Draco to his flat when Robards asked him to. Though at the thought of bed and Draco different ideas started forming in his head.

On one hand, while not someone he had imagined himself to be with, he couldn't deny that there was something that drew him to Draco. He felt good in his arms, underneath him, over him… It wasn't even his personality that bothered him, because that was something he had become used to. No, it was more the impossibility of a shared future that kept him at a distance when he made the effort to think about his reasons in the first place. That, and the startled realisation that he was even contemplating such a scenario. When had it become about more than just physical attraction and getting some release?

As unlikely as it sounded, he had come to like him – and not just his body – in the last couple of days. He didn't know what he could expect from this in the future, but he didn't have a bad feeling about it. Perhaps he would just wait and see what happened next.

"There is no drawer! Where am I supposed to put my underwear?" Draco's voice drifted through the space of two rooms and a hallway between them, like a symbolic answer to his previous thoughts. Harry couldn't suppress a grin, followed by a wayward image flashing into his mind.

"Underwear? Last time I checked you weren't wearing any…"

"That… can be arranged," said Draco from close by this time. He was in a suspiciously good mood. Harry had told him what had happened after he had been led out of the room, and the thought that his mother's death had been avenged invigorated him. He had apparently decided to stop being angry with Harry for having been rude with him, at the prospect of more fulfilling activities…

His arms sneaked around Harry's middle and suddenly he was kissing Harry's nape and making all the little hairs on his body stand on end. Draco's hand slipping boldly under his waistband and cupping his bits didn't fail to generate a response in his body. Especially when he noticed the hard line of an unmistakable erection pressed snugly along his butt crack and started imagining what they could do in this position if not for those layers of clothes between…

A soft coughing sound coming from behind their backs rudely interrupted Harry's plans. Draco hastily extracted his hand, and when Harry turned around, he found himself face to face with Ginny fanning herself with her palm.

"Oh, hi." Harry was acutely aware that he was blushing. Apparently, he had forgotten to close the door.

"Hi, Harry. Trouble with furniture?" Ginny didn't seem to share his discomfort; she was grinning like a shark. "I hope you still have the couch in order, because Ron looks like he is going to need it." She gestured behind her back where Ron and Hermione were standing, the former slowly turning into a permanent stone fixture on Harry's doorstep…

**\\(****TOT)//**

That's where I left them to fend for themselves.

What? You thought Harry had managed to kill me?

Well, I did die that time – burning to ashes is not a nice way to go, I tell you. I reckon I was lucky, still, that the wand he had been using was not his own. Phoenix fire would have taken a lot longer to recover from. But, as Lucy so succinctly put it, I couldn't possibly get any more dead than I already was, so it hadn't been a permanent condition.

It did change one thing though: my death broke the controlling magic Lucy had been using on me. I don't know whether Harry did it because he had figured that out on his own or if he was acting on instinct. If I really wanted to, I could look into his mind again after drinking some more of his blood, but in the general scheme of things, it isn't important. I'm just grateful he did it and am willing to leave it at that – whether he had this outcome in mind or a different one.

Because of Lucy, I had lost the last person who had been important to me. But the time I spent under her control taught me one thing: that I liked to spy on people's lives. It's a game I'm reluctant to give up. That was something I realised while I was observing Harry with Draco. Their interaction amused me greatly; it helped to chase away my boredom. But there was more to it than that.

I hadn't noticed it first; it only became obvious in the face of danger. I doubt Harry had even began to grasp it yet, and Draco only started to towards the end, but there was something developing between them that reminded me of what I had lost. In the end, I think that was what made me spare their lives.

This something, this connection between two people, seemed too precious to destroy. I know how valuable it is: without it, I had been only an empty shell; my mind drowning in hopelessness, I had drifted wherever the wind had blown me. It gave me the first emotions I've felt in a long time: the dread that filled me when I realised what I was on the brink of destroying, and the small spark of satisfaction when I ended up helping to preserve it.

I decided that I wanted more. I wanted to feel it again. And why not? There are other poor souls who could use my help to find the one they were destined to share their lives with – or at least a substitute for lack of the real thing.

So this is it: my new 'quest' – at least until I get bored with it. Lurking in the darkness and hunting for prey is in my nature. I just don't kill them anymore – well, not intentionally. I still have to learn how to get a sample of their blood without them ending up dead; I find it hard to stop drinking.

I'm not too worried about these nuisances. Trial and error would eventually lead me to the right track. I have a herd of mortals to save after all; one or a dozen dying in the process is hardly a failure. This is just the start…

Wish me luck?

**T H E **** . E N D**

**A/N:** Additional disclaimers and notes: if you thought the names 'Renfield' and 'Lucy' were familiar, then you were right. There were two characters with the same name in the Dracula movie of 1931, though their personalities don't really match, except in a very much bastardised form.

_Illithids_, also known as _Mind Flayers_ are a race in D&D, which together with _Monster Manual_, is © Wizards of The Coast Inc.

_Pu-erh_ tea: "The flavor of Pu-erh has been described as muddy, earthy, and tannic, with strong overtones of the barnyard." (http:// en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Pu-erhtea) LOL One of my betas thought that was funny. Anyhow, Draco only drinks it because he had read in one of his Potions books that it's supposed to be good for the figure…

_lingam_: Is a word used for 'penis' in the Kama Sutra.


End file.
